


My Father's Son

by Longclaw_1_6



Series: Succession [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aerys Is His Own Warning, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, Arranged Marriage, BAMF Daenerys Targaryen, BAMF Lyanna Stark, BAMF Ned Stark, BAMF Rhaegar Targaryen, BAMF Rhaenys Targaryen, Canon Divergence - Robert's Rebellion, Cersei is not Bitter, Dan Weiss Sansa will not show up, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fight for the Throne, Fluff and Smut, Future Jonerys, Future Jonsa, Gods of Old Valyria, Jon Snow Knows Something, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Lannister Robb and Arya, Lyanna Stark Lives, Multi, Ned and Rhaegar are friends, No ship wars, Political Elia Martell, Pre - Robert's Rebellion, Queen Elia Martell, Queen Lyanna Stark, Rhaegar Lives, Rhaegar has Blackfyre, Rhaegar loves both his Queens, Rhaegar takes two wives, Season 8 personalities can go to hell, Slow Burn, Smut, True Love, Wolfsblood Sansa, fuck D&D, no Mad Queen, read the tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2020-10-28 22:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 51
Words: 320,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20785973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Longclaw_1_6/pseuds/Longclaw_1_6
Summary: Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen is living a lie. Lying to the world about his father's fitness to rule. Lying to his family over his desires. Lying to himself of what he truly wants. But as his father descends into the ever increasing grip of madness, Rhaegar is looped into a scheme. Forced to marry the daughter of Lord Stark of Winterfell. A Nightmare soon becomes a dream as Lyanna Stark comes into his life, not only bringing love and warmth to the once brooding Prince, but breathing new life into his strained relationship with his wife Princess Elia Martell. Becoming the three heads of the dragon as told by prophecy. But such happiness is fleeting, and soon the Prince will be forced to confront the lies he has told himself from the very beginning.For both Lyanna and Elia fans. Dany and Sansa fans.





	1. The King's Will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello everybody, Longclaw1-6 here! I know I know, I have a ton of outstanding stories already, but I couldn't let this one idea out of my head.
> 
> I've read a bunch of "Prince Jon" stories written out there, but not as many as I would have hoped. And most ended up being set either when he takes the throne or soon before. In my quest for my own unique take, I was thinking. I've written Jonerys a ton, and while I can't seriously write a GoT fic without that pairing (let's be real, that's the true pairing of the show; it's in the freaking title, A Song of ICE and FIRE), why don't I expand my horizons a bit. There's a whole cast of characters in the older generation. Rhaegar, Lyanna, young Ned, young Robert, etc... They would be fun to write about, lol.
> 
> To make a long story short, this story was born! It's part of a series that focuses on the Iron Throne and the succession to it, though most of it will be fun romance and drama. We start off before all the hulabaloo of Robert's Rebellion, with Aerys on the throne and Rhaegar married to Elia Martell.
> 
> Big big shoutout to danielsantiago4545 for his help in brainstorming and planning the story. Couldn't have done it without you, my friend :D
> 
> Cover image by naomimakesart
> 
> Please comment, kudos, and bookmark!

"Atten-shun!" At the command from Captain Thorne, officer on duty for the day, the Household Guard for House Targaryen clicked their heels together. Metal-tipped boots smacking as they stood ramrod straight. Spears pointing high to herald the arrival of both the large carriage train approaching the main gate and the two solitary figures racing out of Maegor's Holdfast. One clad in the grey and purple armor of the Kingsguard, sword clipped at the hip who's tip clinked against the plate of the shins. The other sporting a simple red dress of little finery, yet still resplendent with fair Valyrian beauty.

Beauty twisted in barely contained apprehension. "The gate is opening," Queen Rhaella Targaryen said to herself. Her fingers played with each other, a nervous habit.

Normally silent, the Kingsguards on duty to the Queen or Crown Prince were nevertheless allowed to speak their minds. While the recently knighted and newest sworn brother Jaime Lannister had his many secrets, he did appreciate the ability. "His Grace is lucky that their ship hadn't departed yet for Dragonstone, my Queen."

"Indeed. Would have been nigh impossible to reach them by raven." As it stood, the dispatch rider sent by Thorne already took a precious hour to both reach the dock and secure the royal party. Rhaella shuddered, fear clouding her features an unwelcome one for the Lion knight of Casterly Rock. "I hesitate to think what the King would do if he had to wait a few days."

"Gods are kind to us, today." There was no response, as the hornblowers warbled the arrival of the princely procession.

Three-headed dragon banners fluttering in the wind, the initial procession of riders gave way to the Crown Prince himself. Loyal guards Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Barristan Selmy trailing behind, Rhaegar Targaryen was a sight to behold. His normal armor plate was foregone for a soft tunic and cloak that nevertheless magnified his sleek yet muscular physique. Flowing silver hair let down, sparkling rather than dull like his father. Clipped to his waist was Blackfyre, the ancestral sword of Aegon the Conqueror, recently reclaimed with the defeat of Maelys Blackfyre.

Given the King's… condition, it was unopposed that the Crown Prince receive the sword.

Rhaella couldn't help but smile at her strapping son, all of twenty and two, swinging off his horse like an expert Dothraki bloodrider. Catching his mother's gaze, he nodded with a small smile of his own, but stepped past Arthur and Barristan to reach the carriage at the van of the procession. Many royals or lords would simply let servants handle such matters, but the down to earth Rhaegar found no indignity in opening the carriage door for his wife and children. _I raised a perfect son._

As if a harsh gale on the cliffs of Dragonstone, a blur of wavy black curls raced from the carriage and slammed into Rhaella's legs. "Grandmomma!"

Laughing merrily, Rhaella leaned down to pick up her beloved granddaughter. "Ooof, Rhae. You're getting heavy."

"I's big girl now," giggled the Princess Rhaenys, all of two years old. Purple eyes of Old Valyria contrasted with the tan of Dornish nobility - Rhaella had no clue whether her rambunctiousness was of the fearsome dragon or the sultry spear and snake. _Either way, I pity poor Rhaegar when she comes of age._ "Missed you, grandmomma." Rhaenys needed no prodding to bury her head in the Queen's chest.

Beaming, Rhaella dropped a kiss to the raven locks when an apologetic Rhaegar strode up to her. "Apologies, mother." He looked genuinely sorry, sometimes too kind for his own good. "She knows she saw you just this morning."

"Any time away from my beloved grandchildren is too much," Rhaella cooed, coaxing giggled from the Princess as she lavished her face with kisses. Gently putting her onto the ground to run back to her father, Rhaella approached the willowy Crown Princess. "Elia, welcome back to the Red Keep." A gentle finger moved to stroke the bundle carried in her arms.

Elia Martell gave a wan smile, though the same apprehension shone in her dark eyes. "Glad to see you again, goodmother. I hope… we are not imposing." The lengthy gap belied the seriousness of what was happening, the gravity of which was lost only on the excited, bouncing Rhaenys and the sleeping Prince Aegon - all of two months of age. "Do you know how… long our ship should be waiting in port? The docks are quite busy." All seemingly harmless chit chat. One never knew where the spider placed his birds.

Sighing, Rhaella kissed her grandson's cheek. "You are not imposing, and as to your second question, I'm not sure. Dragonstone may have to wait without its prince and princess for a while, now." Another flash of fear on Elia's face, one Rhaella understood. The King… wasn't fond of the Dornish. Their armies and taxes yes, but not as a people. Rhaegar and Elia were clearly hoping for a quick stay for the newborn Prince's baptismal at the Great Sept of Baelor - white marble and limestone facade visible across the city - before heading back to Rhaegar's domain of Dragonstone.

The Royal Directive overruled all such plans.

"My dear," offered Rhaegar, scooping Rhaenys in his arms and handing her to Ser Arthur. "Head back to your rooms with the children. I'll have Arthur and Barristan escort you."

"Of course, my Prince." A perfunctory kiss on the cheek and the lithe, tanned princess was off with the future of House Targaryen. _Gods, I wish he had been able to marry for love._ Rhaella felt for her son, denied the opportunity to find someone for himself, not just for politics. And yet she had been married for politics… such was the life of a royal of House Targaryen. _At least he and Elia are friends._ It helped, not that Rhaella would know.

Free of having to put a facade for Rhaenys' sake, Rhaegar fell into lockstep beside his mother, leaned in so that only she could hear his whispers - not even for Ser Jaime, trailing behind them. "What is this all about, mother?"

"I don't know, my son," she shot back, equally quiet. "You weren't gone for twenty minutes before Connington told me to greet you back here on the King's orders. And you know your father isn't always… predictable these days."

The fluttering banners dotting the courtyard whipped in the wind blowing out from the bay, cloudless blue sky only making the red sandstone and brick that formed the walls of the Red Keep all the more blatant and bright. "He seemed practically decent the last week. Even agreed to cancel the latest excise tax." Even Rhaegar had been shocked, the King merely nodding at the request. "I suppose it was too good to be true."

Reaching the steps up to the colonnaded hall outside the throne room, Rhaella looped her arm in the crook of Rhaegar's. "He hasn't been in one of his rages since weeks before you, Elia, and the children arrived. Just… quiet. Calm, sitting on the throne for hours on end and brooding." Rhaegar brooded as well, though his was a silent contemplation, while the King would burn holes in the walls with his fiery violet eyes in spite of not a sound leaving his mouth. "I'm concerned he's planning something quite dangerous."

Outside the great bronze-lined oaken doors of the throne room, Ser Gerold Hightower and Prince Lewyn Martell stood guard. Eyes darting to the figure of their Crown Prince from behind their helmets. "My Prince, his Grace is waiting for you inside," ser Gerold stated, hand drifting to the door.

"Why are you here and not the household guard?" Rhaegar knew it couldn't be good.

"Our King wishes to be alone with the prince and the Master of Whisperers."

Rhaella stiffened next to him. "Viserys…" The King was an absent father… till he wasn't. A bead of sweat falling down her forehead, she embraced Rhaegar. "Good luck, my son."

He returned the embrace. "I love you mother." A wry smirk formed on his lips in spite of everything. "Don't worry, fire cannot kill a dragon." Kingsguard opening the doors just wide enough, Rhaegar disappeared into the dark throne room, leaving Rhaella alone in the cavernous hallway.

* * *

High coffered ceiling arched in intricate ribbed vaulting, light pouring through the stained glass of the windows, the Throne Room of the Red Keep had been the pinnacle of architecture during the reign of Maegor I. While the more recent innovations of Braavos, Lannisport, and the castles of the Reach were said to far surpass anything from that era, Crown Prince Rhaegar never ceased to have his breath taken away at the majesty of the seat of House Targaryen. _And all of this will be mine someday._ Many would think this with lust, but for Rhaegar it was sobering - Rhaella had raised him well.

Normally, for the events and audiences held here, it would be completely packed with guards, courtiers, and brownnosing nobles trying to get in good with the crown. However, at the moment there was nothing but a foreboding darkness. Polished tile and colonnaded halls deserted - dragon skulls whitewashed and staring ahead with unseeing eye sockets. Rhaegar had memorized them. _Caraxes, Sunfyre, Silverwing, Vermithor…_ All reminders of House Targaryen's glorious past… past. Only the weight of Blackfyre clinking against his armor remained of that era.

_Will I ever be worthy of their legacy? Could I ever truly lead our House to the glory of Aegon and his sister-wives?_ A question Rhaegar had grappled with for years, brooding hours into the night. Faced with both greatness and the vile scum that had ruled under his name, he couldn't help but feel… truly unworthy of the mantle.

At the head of the room, overlooked by the great seal of House Targaryen atop the window and the skull of Balerion the Black Dread atop that, was the seat of honor. The Iron Throne, forged by dragonfire out of scores of swords of Aegon's enemies. A symbol of power. Of strength. _Of corruption and bloodlust._ And seated upon it, clad in loose robes of black and dull burgundy, was the King himself. Aerys Targaryen, Second of his Name. Rhaegar's father, barely in his forties but already covered in wrinkles and a pale pallor. The Defiance of Duskendale hadn't been good to him, aging him considerably.

But his eyes still retained the sharpness of his youth. Lighting up as he recounted the stories of the great dragonlords to the five year old boy perched by his side on the throne. "See, my son, that great skull there was the mighty Vhagar - mount to Queen Visenya Targaryen."

"The mother of Maegor, right?" chirped young Prince Viserys. Slightly gaunt and willowy, he nevertheless bore the Valyrian beauty and inquisitive gaze of a proper Prince. One that would serve the realm well… had he not idolized his father the King, hanging on his every word.

Aerys ruffled the boy's hair. Probably the only affection he had given him in the last month. "Yes, my son. You have learned your lessons well." Viserys beamed at the praise. "Riding Balerion aside his mother on Vhagar before her death, Maegor made sure to give the Faith Militant and other rebelling zealots their comeuppance. With fire and blood - never forget, traitors only deserve fire and blood." A lesson Viserys was clearly absorbing.

There was little light in the Throne Room even with the windows, illuminated only by two candelabras flanking the throne. Stepping out of the darkness, Rhaegar cleared his throat. Interrupting the horrid little history lesson. Two sets of purple eyes darting to him, Viserys let out a happy squeal. "Rhaegar!" Much as Rhaenys had done to her grandmother, so too did Viserys leap out of his perch on the Iron Throne and run over to his older brother. Arms wrapping around his waist. "I thought you left."

The boy's exuberance coaxed a chuckle out of Rhaegar despite himself. "Father said I needed to come back to discuss something important with him. Do you mind going with mother outside?"

Viserys looked back at their father. Whatever smile he had on his face disappeared leaving only a scowl of indifference. "Go, Viserys. Listen to your brother."

"Yes, poppa." Hugging Rhaegar one last time, he was off. Sandals scuffing along the tile.

Alone finally with his father, Rhaegar stepped to the base of the Iron Throne and drew Blackfyre. Keeling before the King. "I am at your service, your Grace."

Fealty was always required by Aerys - he could always be flattered or annoyed by it, depending on his mood. "Get up, son. I didn't summon you here to bloody kneel." So he was in that kind of mood. "I trust your journey was well?"

"It was. Short, but well."

Aerys snickered. "Bothered your weak wife, didn't it? Probably worried about all her pretty clothes and pretty hair getting the fishmarket reek - as if it could be more pungent than her Dornish stink." The King shuddered. "Gods, your son has the Targaryen hair and eyes and he still smells as Dornish as your firstborn brat. Martells ruin everything they touch."

_Then why did you have me marry one?_ Rhaegar knew the answer. _Politics._ Such brought an undoubtedly beautiful Dornish maiden to his marriage bed in spite of neither holding love for the other. A liking developed, but one devoid of the lifeblood of a truly happy marriage. And Rhaegar put up with it over politics, though not having any true intimacy did drive him further into his brooding. "She is settling in the Holdfast, father, and mother escorted me here. Something about an important matter to discuss?"

Nodding, Aerys motioned into the shadows. "Varys, get out here!" Rhaegar turned to watch a stealthy figure dressed in the finest silks of Myr step out from the shadows. Lord Varys, the young Master of Whisperers - his father's spymaster. _This is not going to be good at all._ "I hope you don't mind my spider here. He's absolutely indispensable at the moment." Aerys' face was generally calm, hair perfectly straightened rather than the unkempt mane he let wild under his crown.

_I don't have a choice in the matter, father._ "Of course," said the Crown Prince, bowing again. "It is good to see you, Lord Varys."

"Likewise, my Prince," replied the eunuch. Voice politic and impassive. "Your council is needed in these trying times."

"'Trying times.' Heh, that's an understatement," scoffed the King. "Tywin Lannister is plotting against the realm."

Rhaegar's eyes widened. Now this was news. "Are you sure, father?"

Aerys scoffed. "Of course. You can see it in his beady little lion cub eyes." He has no evidence. "Why do you think he fled to Casterly Rock after you rejected his bitch daughter? Why do you think I replaced him with Connington instead of beg him to come back. He's turned traitor, the cunt."

"Father, I highly doubt the Warden of the West would plot against his childhood best friend." _Tywin isn't that stupid._

"Don't be a fool, my son," Aerys wheezed, coughing into his hand. "Fucking draft." He brought the cup of wine to his lips, sipping at it. Sighing as the chilled liquid soothed his throat. "Tywin… he's a shifty little cunt. Keeps all his emotions as clenched inside him as the gold he shits." A laugh left the King, both Rhaegar and Varys simply standing there, forced to listen. "Did you know he's massing his armies."

"Are you sure about that, father?" Rhaegar made sure his voice sounded sincerely questioning rather than a mocking dismissal as he was wont to use.

Clearing his throat, it was Varys who answered. "My birds sing songs about overflowing armories in Lannisport. Of young westerman training within the walls of Crakehall and Casterly Rock. Of castles fortified with added battlements."

"There's an innocuous explanation for this." Tywin wasn't his favorite person by far - the man irked him, and his daughter's obvious longing to marry the Crown Prince rubbed Rhaegar off the wrong way - but the man that made sure to get royal approval to destroy the Reynes and Tarbecks was not someone who'd revolt for the hells of it. "Balon Greyjoy's younger brother is said to be back to raiding and raping. Could be that."

Fists clenched, the King glanced up at the rafters. At the skull of Balerion the Black Dread hanging above the Iron throne itself before glancing back at his son. "You know he's planning it." Voice both soft and hoarse - a seductive whisper of conspiracy. "Preparing for it within the walls of his outhouse of a castle."

Rhaegar leaned in, listening intently to his father. "What is it, father? Perhaps I can call the banners and lead our armies against him?"

A sharp, barking laugh left Aerys' lips. "You can't call the banners on the Doom of Valyria!" More laughter.

"Doom of Valyria?"

"Tywin's planning it, the little shit. Why else would he resign his commission as Hand? Why else would he shut himself up back in the Westerlands? Why else would he remove his damn slut of a daughter from court? The sky will fall! And the city will burn under the hellsfires at his doing! Mark my words…!"

The Crown Prince fought the urge to slap the madness out of his father. _He's starting to fall apart._ His and his mother's prayers to delay this day hadn't come true. Beside him, the svelte eunuch was as emotionless as usual. "I'm not sure that even Tywin Lannister has the money to buy the needed sorcerers to achieve that goal, your Grace." It felt ridiculous to patronize such insanity, but the man was the King… and his own father. "Do you honestly feel that a war with the Westerlands would be wise?" _As much as Tywin is hated, I doubt any other Kingdom would hate him as much to destroy the peace._

There was silence for several seconds before Aerys' lips began to curl upward. A slow, steady grin forming till it stretched across nearly his entire face. "Oh, my beloved son. You seem to underestimate your dear old father." He leaned back, proud of himself. "Our House's words are Fire and Blood, but that doesn't mean I understand diplomacy and it's advantages. Such was how Daeron the Good secured Dorne into our domain."

"Alright…" Rhaegar didn't know whether to be glad war was not in the offering, or to dread what in all honesty his father would be eminently proud of devising. "I am at your disposal, my King."

"Good." Aerys slapped his thigh, grin almost manic. Purple eyes glistening - Rhaegar resisted taking a step back, the madness apparent. His own father. If he hadn't hardened his heart long ago, it would have killed him inside. "We will not fight Tywin. We will surround him with the might of our powerful loins."

Blinking, the crown prince's eyes shifted to Varys, who wore a look of half-passivity, half… apology. They shifted back to his father, and Rhaegar sighed. "Care to tell me more about such an illustrious plan, father?"

"Some very crafty and auspicious marriage alliances are ripe for the taking. I know that fat oaf Mace Tyrell has an infant daughter back in Highgarden… he doesn't shut up about her. Viserys would be perfect for her when she flowers."

In all honesty… that wasn't such a bad plan. It would buy the Reach's loyalty and end the annoying begging of the Master of Coin - as much as Rhaegar's own experiences soured him to the idea of bartering children, such was the way of Westerosi highborns. _But that only secures one kingdom._ "You… you mentioned surrounding Tywin.?"

Aerys laughed, clapping merrily. "That's the best part, my son. The stupidity of my older brother left us without enough children but providence has fallen into our lap to stave off the Second Doom! We can buy off three Kingdoms for one maiden daughter!" He motioned to the eunuch. "Varys, tell him before I cut your balls off… oh wait, someone already fucking beat me too it, tee hee!"

Pursing his lips, after a poignant silence Varys only nodded. "There exists one house for which the loyalty of three kingdoms hinges on." Aerys was grinning like mad, while Rhaegar listened intently - he wasn't liking how this was going, but the politics of it all did fascinate him. "House Stark."

"House Stark?" That was one noble house that wasn't often talked about. Most southerners felt it just a frozen wasteland that Aegon the Conqueror should have let starve. "How does House Stark have anything to do with this? They're worse about keeping within the blood than us."

If anyone would know, it was Varys. The eunuch had his fingers everywhere. Knew everything, with the attention to detail of an archmaester. "Lord Rickard Stark has been trying to branch out and secure alliances with other houses outside the North. Expand House Stark's influence. His heir Brandon has been betrothed to Catelyn Tully and his younger son Eddard has been the devoted ward to Lord Jon Arryn of the Vale. A union with House Stark would serve to bind the North, Riverlands, and Vale to the crown."

Whooping, Aerys stabbed his hand into the air. "Three senior houses involved, Rhaegar. Three! Hear that Dunk, you dumb fucker! I'm cleaning up the mess you made!" When the King did descend into manic delusions, his deceased older brother Duncan was an oft participant. "And the old wolf has a daughter too. A maiden I heard."

Devious. Downright genius the more Rhaegar thought about it, but… "Who do you plan to betroth this maiden daughter to?" _Gods, don't let another poor girl be drawn into his __schemes._ "We have no more Targaryen sons, unless you wish to find a Blackfyre bastard somewhere?"

"Pish, Aegon the Conqueror didn't worry about the fact that he was already married to taking another bride. Why should the rest of us?"

Eyes widened in realization. "You wish to marry the daughter of Rickard Stark?" Rhaegar's blood boiled at the affront to his mother.

"Oh please." Aerys looked disgusted. "As if I would sully my cock with the cunt of a northern wildling." His grin returned, as if he was enjoying this… no he clearly was enjoying this. "You are to marry the daughter of Rickard Stark."

Rhaegar Targaryen staggered out of the Throne Room only minutes later - his father's words still ringing in his head. The voices of the Kingsguards reached his ears, but the Crown Prince paid them no heed. It was as if the skull of Balerion or Vhagar had come to life and slammed its jaws into him.

_"You are to marry the daughter of Rickard Stark."_

Another marriage. Another forced marriage thrust upon him for political purposes - political purposes without a basis in reality. Subjecting an innocent maiden innocent of any fault to the same… morosity as Elia… it was like a knife to his heart.

"Rhaegar?" His mother's sweet, serene voice broke him from his haze. Rhaella strode to him, hands grasping his shoulder. "What's wrong? What did he say?"

Not caring of the propriety of it all, Rhaegar simply fell into his mother's comforting arms. Letting her banish the agony away.

* * *

Skirts whooshing in the wind, the young woman managed to parry the attack quite easily. Her opponent was stronger despite being over a year younger, but the woman was faster. Using her agility to an advantage. Blows from the blunt bastard training sword coming in at a flurry. Forcing the younger boy on the defensive, only just barely blocking the slashes.

"Come on!" shouted Brandon Stark, heir to Winterfell, seated atop a barrel perched on the walls of the inner courtyard. "Ben you dumb cunt, force your opening!"

"I'm trying!" Benjen called out, charging. Only for the ten and seven year old to twirl out of the way - training sword smacking into his back and forcing him to the ground. "Damn it!"

Spinning the sword in her wrist, Lyanna Stark swayed her hips. Proclaiming her victory. "Too slow, brother. Far too slow." She whooped, chesnut hair matted over her face with a sheen of sweat. Fair skin flushed. Even disheveled from her unladylike romp, the lithe northern lass was still by far the most beautiful maiden in the castle. "Still the champion rider and fighter in this family, bar none!"

"Lady Lyanna!" Heads whipped around to find Nan, her governess. She marched into the courtyard with hands on her hips. "When you did not show up I knew you'd be here." A huff left her lips. "Young ladies from all the Northern houses are here for the prime position as your lady in waiting and you would rather be here, dirtying your dress and fighting with your brothers."

Taking in the mud splatters and slight fraying of her dress, Lyanna grinned. Twirling the hemline around. "I think this is the newest style. All the way from the Haunted Forest, worn by only the classiest spearwives of the Frostfangs." Brandon and Benjen suppressed snickers, as did any of the smallfolk in earshot.

Nan rolled her eyes. "Your future Lord Husband will not stand for such japes from their Lady wife."

"Perhaps I don't want to be married to such a man," she shot back, huffing herself. Such earned her a smack upside the head. "Ow!" It didn't truly hurt - merely a wounding of pride.

"Hush, you are a lady of House Stark, not some wildling spearwife." Many past governesses had cowered before Lyanna's bravado and threats, which they just were - she was no Bolton, and would only treat the servants with love and kindness when it came down to it. Nan knew when to be firm so that she would listen. "You are to put on a clean and proper dress, then march to the great hall to pick your lady in waiting." With that, she stormed out, leaving Lyanna with a dark scowl of annoyance on her face.

Such scowl only grew darker at the cackling belly laughs coming from the sidelines. "Shut it, Bran!"

Holding his side, the heir to Winterfell couldn't help but find humor at his sister's expense. "Oh the mighty she-wolf of the North. Just wait till you have some Manderly or Cerwyn maiden to gush about dresses from Lannisport." Brandon pursed his lips to hold back the giggles, actually hurting his stomach. "Dash off to sew and dance and fix up your pretty hair…" A clump of mud slammed into his head, silencing him. Sending him toppling to the ground.

Benjen watching with his jaw dropped, Lyanna's muddy hand pumped up with a whoop of triumph. "Now who has the 'pretty hair?'" It was her turn to laugh until a second muddy clump shot by her shoulder - splattering into Benjen. "Oh you little shit!" Brandon digging for another from the soggy ground to toss at her, only smirked.

"You're gonna pay for that!" their youngest brother cried, scooping out his own clump of mud.

Turning away with a shake of the head and a smile on his lips, Lord Rickard Stark of Winterfell and Warden of the North chuckled as the shouts and japes of his children wafted back from the courtyard. From his perch on the balcony outside his personal reception room, he had heard the entire little spat. It brought warmth to his heart to see his children so happy. Even now, the scars of the Lady Lyarra's death and heartbreak of sending Ned to the Vale were still acutely felt. While the north was at peace - the sleepy little backwater of Westeros - the needs of alliances still came first.

Even when conflicting with family. Rickard was a more sentimental man than most, but the game of thrones required a little callousness - a trait that the plenty of peace had largely fallen away from the Starks. _Gods, I do not wish to lose any of them._

"She is a spitfire, isn't she?" Martyn Cassel, Winterfell master at arms, laughed with crossed arms. Formerly squire to the Lord, he and Rickard were quite close. His most trusted confidant.

Rickard smiled. "Aye. Takes after her mother."

"Lady Lyarra? She was always a dignified lady."

"You didn't know her in her youth." A grin formed on Rickard's face, remembering his wild youth - especially with her intended. "Hopefully Lyanna can settle down as a proper lady when she marries like Lyarra did."

Instead of a laugh or a jape, Martyn frowned. "Careful, my Lord. Yer' playin' with fire there." Pointing into the courtyard, both watched as Lyanna leaped on her older brother, smashing mud in his face while whooping at the top of her lungs. "Direwolves aren't meant to be caged, and the blood of the direwolf is in that one."

Sighing, Rickard could only nod. "Wouldn't want to if I could help it, but a highborn can't help it sometimes." He spared one last look at his children all leaping on each other in a laughing pile. "She's ten and seven. She'll grow out of it if she needs to."

"Whatever you say, my Lord." Martyn wasn't convinced.

A door opened from the inside of the keep, wooden sandals clicking on the floor. "Lord Stark," announced Maester Luwin, two slips of paper nestled between his bony hands. "Two ravens from the south." He handed them to Rickard. "One from the Eyrie and the other from King's Landing."

Opening the slip from the Eyrie first, Rickard felt a joy welling inside him. "Gods, it's good to hear from Ned." Old Jon Arryn a bachelor without heirs, fostering his middle son was the only way the north could build relations with its neighbor - a wise decision all around, since Lord Arryn treated Ned as his own. With happiness, he read the letter.

_Dearest father,_

_Your previous letter has been received well by Lord Robert, having been elevated to the lordship of Storm's End upon his father's death one month previous. He will not leave for the Stormlands for several months, and is very supportive and open of a marriage alliance with our House._

_While the final decision should rest with yourself and Lyanna, I cannot help but in the highest terms recommend Robert Baratheon, my dear friend, to be betrothed to my beloved sister. I and Lord Arryn confirm he is a noble, loyal young lord and would be a devoted husband._

_Whatever you decide, father._

_Your loving son, Ned._

"What's it say, my Lord?" Martyn asked. When Rickard showed him, he whistled. "Ooks like the she-wolf will be finding a stag for a husband." An eyebrow rose. "That is if 'yer considerin' sending her south."

The Lord of Winterfell was conflicted. It was one thing for the Lady Catelyn Tully's betrothal to Brandon - it would be she coming North - but to send Lyanna far to the south in the Stormlands? Once again, politics beat out sentimentality. "Robert Baratheon is a strong match for the North. Lyanna will accept her duty." Not wanting to hear more from Martyn, Rickard opened the other dispatch. This one far more professionally written than his son's.

_Lord Stark,_

_His Grace Aerys, Second of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, invites you to a tourney at Harrenhal to celebrate the Crown Prince Rhaegar's twenty and two nameday. The entirety of the lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms are also invited to be welcomed under the hospitality of_   
_His Grace._

_Your presence is very strongly requested._

_Jon Connington,_

_Lord of Griffin's Roost and Hand of the King._

"My Lord… My Lord…" Rickard could barely hear Martyn calling to him, blood rushing from his face as he paled. Thrusting the message to his master at arms, Martyn himself paled. "Well fuck."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Already, tossed in a huge ripple into the timeline. Let's find out what happens!
> 
> Just as a clarification, I am going by the showverse list of kings: Maeker - Aegon V (Brother of Aemon) - Aerys. I will be using a blend of the book and show elements, but will probably use the show more often cause I prefer it as a source (fuck season 8 though).
> 
> Most little changes I make to the world will be explained in further updates.
> 
> As you can see, Rhaegar and Lyanna are the main heroes of the story (I tend to view them pretty favorably; while they deserve some blame for Robert's Rebellion, I see others as the more direct causes; the matter could have been put to bed easily if it was just their transgressions). Plenty of others will have their day, and I am planning some really subversive and interesting twists (good ones, I promise).
> 
> Be sure to check out my other stories!
> 
> Next chapter will be mostly Lyanna. As always, until then!


	2. The She-Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I am blown away by the reception this story has gotten. I was worried that many Jonerys fans wouldn't read something about Rhaegar/Lyanna, but I'm glad I was wrong :D
> 
> I received one comment that was dismissive of the story largely on how I portray Rhaegar and Elia. That Rhaegar is scum and Elia is a completely wronged wife. Just two things to note: 1) I will be introducing the thoughts and characterizations of the main cast gradually. Each one will occur at the right time and in the right way. 2) Elia is going to be a significant protagonist in the story, as is Rhaegar and Lyanna. Have patience, I will get there.
> 
> Here's the promised Lyanna chapter :D
> 
> Please comment.

Tightening his cloak around his shoulders, Lord Rickard Stark poked at the roaring fire in the hearth of his solar. Shifting the logs around for an even flame. Even with both, he was still impossibly cold. Outside the roar of the autumn rainstorms pounded against the wooden roof and stone walls of Winterfell - as if the gods themselves were furious at the world. Lightning cackled and thunder boomed, adding to the feeling.

Nothing Rickard hadn't gotten used to, so perhaps it was the contents of the letters received only a week before that was grating on him. _No, it's definitely that._

"It's days like this that I miss the Reach," moaned Wyman Manderly. The fit, if beefy, Lord of White Harbor was a childhood friend of Rickard's - gregarious and friendly, they made quite a pair.

Beside him, Roose Bolton rolled his eyes. The youngest man there, his sharp mind nevertheless thrust him into the realm of the big players in the North. "You've never lived in the Reach, nor has your house for thousands of years." Unlike the rest, House Manderly was not of the blood of the First Men. Rather of Andal blood that settled in the North long ago.

Wyman chuckled, downing his cup of heated ale. "I guess I miss the idea of the Reach. Ya' never hear of House Tarly freezin' their balls off."

Not one to take part in such idle chit chat, Roose looked back to his Liege Lord. "My Lord, why is it that you are worried here? The prospect of marrying your daughter off to the Lord of Storm's End or the random tourney in the south?"

"It isn't a random tourney, Lord Bolton," Martyn Cassel shot back. "The King himself essentially demanded that he ride south."

Pursing his lips, Bolton nodded. "You're right, that is inherently suspicious."

"What could the King want from me?" Rickard normally was like the ice of the land he ruled, unflappable - Ned took after him, while his other children were more like their wild mother. Now though, he was quite exasperated, sweat streaming down his brow. Aerys II Targaryen tended to have that effect on people. "I've loyally paid my taxes to the crown, traded well with the southern kingdoms."

"He's a madman," boasted Wyman, slapping the arm of the chair he sat in. "The North hasn't involved itself in southern affairs since the Dance of Dragons. We didn't even involve ourselves in the Blackfyre Rebellions!"

A snort came from Roose Bolton, drawing the attention of the other three men. "Have anything to add, Roose?" Martyn Cassel said.

Roose crossed his arms. "It is never wise to underestimate one's… adversaries for lack of a better term. Look at it from the King's perspective. After most of his reign spent under Tywin Lannister's reign as Hand, he's suddenly sacked and with the Targaryen bootlicker Connington put in his place. Lannister foe Mace Tyrell placed on the Small Council and his son married to the Princess of Dorne. What do you make of that?"

It started to dawn on Rickard. "He's seeing threats all around him… especially from the Westerlands."

Wyman paled. "Fuck, Rickard. Yer' marrying off yer' children to the lords of powerful houses in the south. He could see it as an even bigger threat."

"You're not as thick as I thought you were, Wyman," smirked Roose. "Although if you keep eating as much as you do, you will be." All of them, even Lord Manderly, enjoyed a chuckle at the jape. "This tourney is clearly a stunt. He's testing everyone's loyalty."

Sighing, Rickard fell into his chair. "So what would you have me do?"

"Simple. Accept Robert Baratheon's offer. The Stormlands are loyal to the crown, and if you have something huge to offer the King then he'll be more inclined to seek our council rather than burn you alive." A shudder ran through each man's body at the thought.

Nevertheless it being the proper political option, it still weighed on Rickard. "But what of Lyanna? She should have some say in who she marries."

Roose shrugged his shoulders. "She's a woman. Her personal feelings don't matter." In the grand scheme of things… he was right. "For gods' sake, Lord Stark, you realize this is how the world works?"

"Don't you think I know that, Lord Bolton?" Rickard shot back.

"I don't think you do," Roose said dismissively. "Little girls should be learning to sew and manage a household, not gallivanting on horses or playing men's warcraft." He sneered. "It's cruel, if you think about it."

Rickard fumed. "How I raise my daughter is my business, not yours."

"It is my business if your insane parenting style threatens the stability of the North."

Before Rickard could get angry, Wyman stood. "I know, Rickard, that the girl means a lot to ye'. I've seen ya let her do things like ride and swing a sword that only the Mormonts or the Martells do, but… she has her duty. To marry and seal alliances. I know you know this… and she likely does to."

Closing his eyes, Rickard nodded. "Aye, she does." He knew Roose had hit the mark - the only question remaining was whether Lyanna would ever truly forgive him. Wordlessly, he walked back to his desk, picking up a quill to write a letter to Lord Baratheon.

* * *

The clash of steel filled the courtyard. Butterflies and cicadas whizzing by the flowers and trees in the gardens as the two great warriors fought brutally, muscles straining and sweat soaking them. Servants stopped whatever they were doing to watch, mesmerized. The fluid movements of Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. Training blade in each hand, his wrists flicked and twirled the blunted steel. As amazingly as any mummer dancer from Braavos, pressing an attack or patching an opening in his defensive stance. Truly one of the best warriors in the world.

But if Arthur was exceptional, the Crown Prince of House Targaryen was simply astonishing. Rhaegar's silver locks sparkled in the high sun of midday, loose strands escaping from his bun to mat on his sweaty forehead. On Arthur it was all business, lips pursed in concentration - the dragon was awoken in Rhaegar, a fury crossing him as he charged. His blade striking the steel of Ser Arthur's, rapidly coming up to parry the blow from the Kingsguard's second blade. A pure rage that set alight every female with a working set of eyes watching the spectacle. Gods how they envied the Princess Elia at that moment.

Breaking off, the two sized each other up. Circling the other. Arthur's wrists twirled his swords, waiting for the attack - Rhaegar kept his presented, eyes narrowed. Waiting for an opportunity… At a perfect angle the sun glinted off his gorget, forcing Arthur to blink. Rhaegar surged, clashing against the Kingsguard's blades.

The Sword of the Morning fought back valiantly, one blade always behind his back while the other slashed and parried, but Rhaegar was a machine. Always pushing forth. Taking the initiative. With a snarl he managed to hit one sword with a downward blow, steel clattering on the ground. A roundhouse punch to the gut sent Arthur sprawling, before Rhaegar launched the killing blow.

Arthur sucked in the cool breeze from the bay, letting the fresh salt spray ease his lungs - fighting from coughing. "Son of… a bitch…" The training sword brushed against his adam's apple, one of the few weak points in his armor.

"Do you yield?" demanded Rhaegar, steel gorget rising and falling with his heaving chest. "Ser Arthur?"

"Yes, I yield." Swords clattered to the ground, the two men struggling to not collapse on the stone floor of the training ground. From the onlookers, wild cheers and applause rang out for the Crown Prince's victory. "I think only you could defeat me, your Grace."

"My goodbrother probably could," Rhaegar shrugged, grabbing a waterskin from a bench and downing the lukewarm liquid. It felt wonderful. "And I think you let me win."

Arthur gave a wan grin. "Perhaps partly, your Grace."

Rhaegar punched him in the shoulder. "Cunt." Arthur's grin only widened.

"Good job, my son." Both turned to see Queen Rhaella, smiling softly and walking to them. Behind was Ser Jaime, hand idly on the hilt of his sword.

Both bowed. "Mother."

"Your Grace."

Rhaella swatted her son's shoulder. "You're my son, so stop that." She leaned in to kiss him, and wrinkled her nose. "You reek. I'll have the servants warm you up a nice bath to wash out that sweat…"

"Mother…" Hearing Arthur and Jaime snicker at his embarrassment, Rhaegar took Rhaella's arm and began to walk her to their quarters in Maegor's Holdfast. "Must you?"

"Don't give me that," Rhaella chided. "I'm your mother, I'll always worry about you." Ever since she was ten and four, being given a screaming baby after an arduous labor in which she nearly died, Rhaella had treasured her beloved firstborn. He and Viserys being the only happiness her marriage brought her. "I saw how enraged you were. How you attacked Arthur back there. The mysterious bruises on all the Kingsguards…"

"We're quite alright, your Grace," Jaime piped up, only to be hushed by the older Arthur. He had been Rhaegar's sparring partner - victim - the day before.

Rhaella chuckled. "I know, Ser Jaime." She turned back to the Prince. "They can take it, but it's not healthy to vent your frustrations out like that." While they were still in the gardens - lush with life thanks to Princess Elia's handpicked Dornish horticulturists from the Water Gardens of Sunspear - she reached up to cup her son's cheek. "Please talk to me, my sweetling."

"There's not much to say… Father made his command, and I must live with it."

"I know you will obey him, my son. You are too dutiful not to, but that doesn't mean you have to agree with it."

"What would you have me say, mother?" Rhaegar sighed. "I already have made one woman miserable in a marriage she never wanted. Now I must subject another to it?"

It was what made Rhaegar different from most men - hells most men in their own family. Such care… he was a good man. Rhaella knew he would be a great King, but they just had to survive long enough for him to get there. "All we can do is hope, my son. Perhaps it will turn out the way you want?"

Rhaegar snorted. "That's bloody likely." Sarcasm drifted to sorrow, hanging his head as they reached the Holdfast. He hated exposing his emotions - the lessons his father drilled into him years before held firm - but his mother was different. A refuge in the darkest storm. "Never will I know what real love is. Hold a _real_ marriage with _real_ intimacy. Elia… she'll never love me like that and I can't blame her."

"Elia loves you. I know she does." Gods, both of them were still so young when they were betrothed. Denied any chance to even get to know each other before Aerys was demanding heirs, Prince Doran mining her for information useful to Dorne, and both of them the target of the King's vicious japes. It just… forced them to give up even trying to bond.

It all infected Rhaegar's head, always too kind and sentimental for his own good. "I know how unhappy she is, mother. I've seen it since we were forced together by a goodfather who calls her and our children nothing but trash every single fucking day!"

His pain hitting her like a knife to the heart, Rhaella tried to comfort her son. Knowing how the depths of Aerys' japes and slander hurt him, knowing that he couldn't reply. Knowing it would only be worse if he tried to defend Aerys' targets.

But Rhaegar wouldn't calm down. "The Stark daughter… I just know she'll hate me, and like Elia she'll be completely right to." Blinking back the anguish, he composed himself once more. "I need to be alone."

"Rhaegar!" Rhaella called out to him, but it was too late. He had already disappeared, probably to his chamber to play the harp.

"He'll be alright, your Grace," Ser Jaime stated, pressing a hand to her shoulder despite Arthur's disapproving look.

Smiling despite herself, Rhaella patted the offered hand. Glad for someone's comfort. Especially Jaime's, fond as she was of the newest Kingsguard. "No he won't, I'm afraid." Her boy had the weight of the Kingdoms on his shoulders. The same weight that had driven Aerys to madness - and Rhaegar only denied himself the loving support structure needed to save himself from his father's fate.

Arthur winced. "I know him. He'll give this girl everything, at the expense of his own heart."

Nodding, Rhaella closed her eyes, praying for a miracle.

* * *

"She really is a gorgeous horse."

Softly brushing the luscious silver mane hanging down from its neck, Lyanna stroked the horse's muzzle. Rewarded with nicks of contentment. "Her name is Winter," the daughter of House Stark told her new handmaiden. "She's mine."

Dacey Mormont could only nod. It really was a beautiful beast. A solid silver-grey with smatterings of darker grey spots on its haunches, the mare was as close to a thoroughbred Crakehall or Dornish breed as could be found in the north. "How long have you had Winter?"

"It was a gift from my father when I was ten and one, just a foal. Told me to raise her and care for her myself. Been mine ever since… isn't that right Winter?" Further strokes brought a delighted neigh, he horse tilting its head to the side in order to nuzzle Lyanna's hair. "Winter…" she giggled. "Stop it." Dacey couldn't help but laugh at the both hilarious and heartwarming scene.

Both highborn northern ladies wore dresses, but they were streaked with grass stains and little rips from the brambles and branches that adorned the riding trails through the Wolfswood. When Nan bugged Lyanna incessantly about choosing a Lady in Waiting, the idea was for the more graceful northern ladies such as Wylla Manderly or Sybelle Locke… not the raven-haired she-warrior of Bear Island, niece of Lord Jeor Mormont and… practically exactly like Lyanna herself. A week had passed and they were already fast friends - and giving Nan grey hairs. _Be careful what you wish for._

"The land's too flat for my taste, but I do like being able to ride… without inhibitions," Dacey laughed, stroking the hide of her own horse. "Anything else worth exploring?"

Lyanna fished out an apple from her pocket - a precious commodity in Winterfell, coming from the Vale - and cut it in thirds. One for herself, one to hand to Dacey, and one for Winter to enjoy. "There's the Crypts, but father doesn't like any of us going in there…"

"You're ten and seven. What's stopping you?"

Shrugging, Lyanna took a bite of her apple slice. "I don't much like it there either. Otherwise, there's this waterfall 'bout an hour's ride north. My brothers and I like to swim in the water there - it's heated with hot springs"

That put a smile on Dacey's face. "Sounds like a blast. Perhaps…" The smile turned sly. "Perhaps we should invite some of these comley guards for a real fun time."

Hearing what Dacey was suggesting - the women of Bear Island known for fierceness and… more - she simply blushed. "I don't think that would be wise." Her wild personality had its limits. It just caused Dacey to laugh louder.

Their conversation in the stables was cut off by a visitor. "My Lady Stark." A member of the household guard bowed. "Lord Stark wishes your presence in his solar." Lyanna blinked, sharing a quizzical look with Dacey. Her father usually would seek her out herself for anything normal, so this was quite serious. "This way, my Lady. I shall escort you."

Rickard Stark was seated at his desk, quill in hand as he scribbled on a sheaf of parchment. The ironwood was piled high with various dispatches and ledgers, touching on everything from grainary yields to congratulations to Lord Karstark for the birth of his first daughter. Growing up among the Lords of the North, Lyanna knew plenty who could barely read or write, instead leaving others to handle the work for them while they hunted or sparred. Not her father - he did the work himself, and made sure each of his children were well read and had excellent calligraphy.

He didn't notice her entry, so Lyanna cleared her throat. "You summoned me, father."

Looking up, Rickard smiled - one that didn't reach his eyes. Uh oh. "Dearest daughter, please." He rose from his desk in respect, motioning to a chair across from him. "Have a seat. We have something important to discuss."

With trepidation, Lyanna complied. Casting her father a wary look - he was never this formal with her. "Do I need to worry?..." Suddenly she froze, shaking from fear. "Is it Ned? Did something happen to him?" Even so far away, Lyanna was the closest to him.

Rickard raised his hands, shaking his head. "No… not at all… well, it does involve him, but your brother is alright, I promise." Lyanna visibly relaxed, though was still guarded. "I received request for your hand in marriage, the most prominent one."

Lyanna froze, the news rocking her just as strongly as had her worry for Ned's health - though in a different way. Requests from many lords for betrothals had poured in for years, but all were dismissed by her father. It was something Lyanna ultimately dreaded but took lightly since all so far were ridiculous. How her father had laughed when old Walder Frey wanted to betroth her to his son Lothar… already she could tell this was different.

"Who… who is he?" she finally croaked out.

"Robert of House Baratheon, the newly designated Lord of Storm's End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands." A noble, august house. Any maiden daughter couldn't do much better. "Ned suggested the match, given he was fostered with Jon Arryn alongside him."

But Lyanna didn't care about how prestigious such a betrothal was. _Robert Baratheon… the Stormlands…_ You couldn't get farther from Winterfell if one tried, and it was a common saying in the North that the further south one went the less value a woman really had - Dorne aside, from what Lyanna heard it was an accurate statement. "You're considering this, father?"

"Of course, my daughter. Brandon is marrying Lady Tully, the Lord of the Vale thinks Ned is the son he never had. A marriage with the Lord of Storm's End grants our House with influence we haven't had since Cregan Stark went south during the Dance of Dragons." He sighed as Lyanna started to take in deep breaths, trembling. "Calm yourself Lyanna, I'm not going to marry you to a complete stranger." He rose from his chair and rounded the desk, sitting beside Lyanna. "We are to leave in two days for the Riverlands. There's a tourney in Harrenhal the King is throwing that we will be intending. Your brother Eddard will bring Lord Baratheon there as I will you. There you will get to know him in preparation for an official betrothal."

_Two days… Harrenhal… official betrothal…_ This was happening. Lyanna felt as if chains were materializing out of thin air to shackle her. "What if I don't want to live in the south?" she asked, voice halting, mind in a surreal daze. "What if I don't want to be married?"

Rickard's voice grew hard. "I know I've been lenient on you, Lyanna. You remind me so much of your mother that I couldn't help but give in to even your most… outlandish demands and requests. Myself, Brandon, Ned, Benjen… seven hells, every one of us in Winterfell loves your fiery personality, but you are still my daughter. What is expected of you is different from what is expected of Brandon or Ned. I may have been neglectful of what was truly important."

Red blinded her vision, her father's words like a knife to the heart. "You do not mean that. How could you want to chain me up like some caged bird?"

"You will do your duty, Lyanna. As a daughter of House Stark, you will fulfill what you have been raised to be." The Lord of Winterfell softened. "I know that you can do it." He kissed her head. "Now find Lady Mormont and pack. It'll be a busy few days."

Lyanna didn't remember how she had left her father's solar… or how she ended up in the great hall. Everything was a blur, mind whirring with the suddeness of her destiny being foisted on her. _Betrothed… betrothed… two days…_ "Lya!" Blinking, Lyanna looked up find the thatch of sandy blonde hair of her brother, seated upon one of the tables scarfing down a meat pie. Taking after their mother's family, the fair yet rugged looks of the heir to Winterfell made many a maiden swoon. "Come over here and sit with yer' brother!"

While normally she'd smirk and punch him in the shoulder, the tempest inside of Lyanna caused her to just nod dumbly. Wordlessly, she took a seat. Barely listening as Brandon began bragging about the new sword the smiths had forged for him, how many wildling bandits he would slay with it… "Brother, does Ned talk to you often?"

She had cut him off mid-sentence, Brandon gulping down a bite of pie to peer at her. "Umm… as often as he talks to you. Why?"

"What do you know about Robert Baratheon?" Ned never told her about him - if anyone knew the gossip of rumors from Ned or otherwise, it was Brandon. There were bound to be a lot of it in Riverrun when he went south to meet his intended.

Brandon's eyes went wide. "Ah… so father accepted."

Lyanna stared. "You knew?!"

Her brother shrugged. "Ned and Robert were always close, even if he was two years older." Brandon suddenly laughed. "Ha, I can't imagine sour old Ned being friends with Robert! He already has a bastard girl in the Eyrie, and that's only the one we know of…"

But whatever he cared to say was lost on Lyanna. "What?!" Several servants looked up to the screeching of their lady, though they quickly averted their gazes. "He has a bastard?!"

"Oh…" Brandon had the respect to look away sheepishly. "I wasn't supposed to say that."

"You were going to keep this from me?" _Gods… Lord Baratheon has a bastard… and only one is known. Perhaps more?_ It was like a warhammer slamming into her.

"It's not my place to speak ill of someone's… intended. Most wives would want to be kept in ignorance…" Seeing her anger, her hurt, Brandon reached out to clasp her hands. "Lya, please don't be upset. It's common for highborns to bear bastards, especially in their wild youth. Marriage has a way of settling these men down."

She ripped her hands away, shaking her head fiercely. "Once a whoremonger, always a whoremonger!" Lyanna stood, eyes red with unshed tears. "I don't want to get married! I don't want to live in chains!" Before her brother could stop her she dashed out. Servants giving her a wide berth.

As soon as she disappeared out of the hall, Brandon ran a hand down his face. "Thank the gods Catelyn was enamored with me." The way of betrothals in Westeros left much to be desired - first impressions were everything, and even then a whoremongering or cold spouse could end any chance at even affection before it started. Anyone Ned was friends with had to be someone decent, but the facts spoke for themselves. "Robert's gonna break her heart, the cunt." There was literally nothing he could do about it though. _Who's a better match than Lord Robert Baratheon?_

* * *

Scrambling into her private chambers, nearly stumbling on the hem of her long dress half a dozen times, Lyanna slammed the door behind her. Latching it firmly shut. She wanted no companions, no visitors. The desolate, terrified girl needed her space - needed time to calm herself. Lungs inhaled a sucking, deep breath… but she did not calm down. The tempest within Lyanna continued to howl and churn with the force to annihilate a massive sailing carrack.

She threw herself upon her bed, facedown and yelling into her goose-down pillow. Her father's and brother's words pounded the inside of her skull like hammers.

_"...you will get to know him in preparation for an official betrothal..."_

_"...He already has a bastard girl in the Eyrie…"_

"No!" she yelled into the soft mass. "I do not want to marry Robert Baratheon!" Normally so strong, so determined and composed, the weight of her young age and her sheltered life hit Lyanna fully. "I do not want it, father!" All the words she was too afraid to say to him in person tumbling out.

When conflicted and scared, unable to mount Winter and flee into the Wolfswood, Lyanna reached into the ironwood dresser and pulled out her most beloved possession. A leather-bound book, several years old. Slightly worn from overuse, parchment starting to color with age, but otherwise in perfect condition. Cover devoid of scratches or cracks, binding tight, and barely even a single stain on the pages - such was how Lyanna treasured the tome.

It had been a gift from Ned and Jon Arryn for her nameday the one time Lyanna visited the Vale - her brother knowing her uncharacteristic love of books and knowledge and his ward knowing the perfect text to give a wild youth. _The Dancing Queen._ Unlike the dry Maester's tomes that Luwin instructed them with, this one was a 'novel.' Written in a flowing, dynamic style of prose and plot by then Prince Viserys, later King Viserys II. A tale of the Dance of Dragons, of the great Queen Rhaenyra and her uncle-husband Prince Daemon.

Oh had she read this book. Read and reread it more times than she could count. Lyanna knew every line by heart, but the book still sprang out at her each time she opened a page. A tale of love and of tragedy, of a completely devoted husband to his Queen and love. Of the hero Prince Daemon fighting atop a dragon to his untimely death above the God's Eye against his kin. One that rode a dragon far larger and more feared, yet one Daemon did anyway… to protect his Queen and beloved.

Oh did Lyanna idolize such a man.

Clutching the precious book to her chest, tears tumbled down Lyanna's cheeks. Dropping her fierceness, her wild ways, her strength. Beneath all was a spirited little girl that only desired to be free. To ride through the woods with the wind whipping through her hair - both literally and metaphorically. But what man would want that?

Much as they were looked down as savages and country bumpkins by most of Westeros, the northerners knew things or two about high culture. Lyanna knew what marrying a southern Lord would entail. Endless rows of parties and luncheons. Hosting visiting highborn wives while managing the domestic life of a castle. Pumping out heirs for a husband that probably wanted her as a status symbol. Lyanna was no fool - what her father and mother had… it was rare to the point of lampoon.

The life of a southern Lady Wife would be one of chains, especially for one with the indignity to suffer an unfaithful husband. To which Lord Robert Baratheon of Storm's End apparently was - what else would compel a man to father a bastard? Perhaps she was a bit too harsh, but there was just something… an instinct telling Lyanna her first reaction was right here.

_Why would my dear Ned even suggest such a man?_

A servant knocked on the door, but Lyanna didn't even answer. Waiting with silent sobs until the knocking stopped and whomever it was went away. The words she had yelled at Brandon played over and over in her head.

_I don't want to get married…_

_I don't want to get married…_

_I… I can't live in chains._

And another realization that seemed to have punctuated all her behavior. Her reluctance to marriage.

_I want love. I want my Daemon._

Each time Lyanna read and reread her favorite book, the dynamic and passionate Queen Rhaenyra became her. And each time, Prince Daemon became the manifestation of the future husband she prayed the gods - old and new - would grant her. One loving and completely devoted. One who would give a caring hand in teaching her how to truly become the kind of lady only she could be. Respectful and even excited to her passions and desires, a man she would fall for completely and he with her.

She was a proud lady of House Stark. Blood of the wolf, ice made flesh, but Lyanna couldn't care at this point. There she laid on the bed, letting the tears flow.

_I just want my Daemon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that went well.
> 
> Lyanna had to have had a reason to fall in love with Rhaegar and abandon Robert. In the next few chapters I plan to explore exactly why. The part about the book was my little fun inclusion, cause even the she-wolf of Winterfell could be a romantic at heart. While I intend on characterizations of Westerosi History to be as accurate as possible, if I use poetic license to change some things don't fault me for it. If I would choose sides in the Dance of Dragons, I'd be one of the Blacks.
> 
> Was fun writing young Roose Bolton. The guy was an emotionless snake from the beginning.
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Next up, Rhaegar tells Elia and we meet Robert for the first time.


	3. Princess of Dorne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, and once again I'm blown away by the level of support this story is getting :)
> 
> Note on any changes to the history of Westeros (Daemon and Rhaenrya Targaryen especially) that some might take issue with: unlike GRRM, I'm a little more on the optimistic, romantic side. I'd prefer to make certain parts less filled with hate and backstabbing and including more love and happiness.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

The clatter of gold dragons rattled on the worn beech of the bartop as Lord Robert Baratheon slammed them down. "A toast for everyone!" he boomed, flushed face curled up in a roaring grin. "In the name of my goodbrother to be!"

"YEEEEERRRRRR!" whooped the entire tavern, mugs hoisted in the air for whatever the seven hells the man was yelling about. In the back of the rather large establishment, a pair of fiddlers picked up a jaunty tune, patrons beginning to rise spontaneously in dance - free refills were always something to celebrate.

"I'M GETTIN' MARRIED!" The Lord of Storm's End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands belied his statements by grabbing a barmaid, kissing her cheek and tickling her skin with his bushy moustache and prickly chin beard.

Shaking his head, Eddard Stark chuckled as he went into his own mug. Letting the bitter liquid slosh down his gullet. "Gods, it's good to taste some decent country ale."

Seated across from him, Lord Jon Arryn of the Eyrie blinked at him. "The best arbor golds or Dornish reds in my cellars weren't to your liking?" He clutched his heart atop the plate armor of the Vale knight he had been in his youth. "Dear Ned, you've doth wounded me."

Ned sputtered into his drink, froth showering the table as he laughed. The straightlaced and quiet Lord Paramount of the Vale was thought to be a humorless scold, but the young man considered Arryn's de facto son knew that it wasn't true at all. "You can take the northman out of the north, but never the north out of the northman."

"Don't I know it, lad." Lord Arryn's precise speaking was out of place in the roadside tavern, but the honorable man that the tavern owner insisted on providing room and board to nevertheless was an honored guest. "You should stay with us, Ned. I'd rather you not go to the Twins."

Just as he placed his empty mug down did a barmaid - the one Robert was flirting with earlier - replace it with a full one. Sashaying her hips as she left, hoping to tempt the young northman. Ned didn't take the bait. "As much as I love you and your company, my Lord, I am too eager to see my family."

"I know. Just be careful… both there and at the tourney." Arryn gave him a somber frown. "Most southern keeps are filled with snakes. Men meet their ends in the worst ways, gods know honorable men. I'll try to keep you out of trouble and teach you to identify duplicity when we meet again at Harrenhal, but keep your father away from the King's court. Starks don't fare well south of the Neck, I'm afraid." Ned only nodded, heeding Jon Arryn's warning before his friend sauntered over.

Whooping yet again, eyes wide and speech slurred, Robert threw an arm around Ned's shoulder. His over-the-top, gregarious amiability only enhanced by the ale and wine coursing through his system. "Ned, my man. You are like a brother to me, and soon we're literally going to be brothers!"

While he would never truly be comfortable with the way men would descend into… chaos after enough drink - he had seen it happen to Brandon, and it always irked his more straitlaced personality - Ned just laughed. Robert's… zest for life did rub off on him. He enjoyed allowing himself letting loose, one of the reasons he was drawn to the Stormlands Lord in the first place. "I can't think of anything I'd want more, Robert."

"Your sister sounds perfect, Ned. She'll be the perfect wife for me, Lady of Storm's End." The young Lord could picture it in his head. A future he had grown enamored of since first being told of his friend's younger sister. Since first proposing the betrothal. "A woman fit for a Baratheon, givin' me plenty of stag sons with wolfsblood running through their veins!"

Robert Baratheon wasn't a person known for his wit or intelligence, but he possessed a sort of crafty instinct that kept even his impulsive nature under wraps when such was most needed. But when he drank and when he boasted - especially when considered due for the man that wanted for nothing growing up - such craft tended to vanish. It charmed many a lady and many a knight or bannerman. It wasn't something that Ned particularly enjoyed, and he knew Lyanna wouldn't.

Sensing this, Jon Arryn reached out and placed a hand on Robert's shoulder. "Now, now, dear boy. If she is to be your lady wife, you'll have to give her the respect you would give yourself. Any man could sire heirs, but only a good one can get their wife's affection." Ned smiled at his foster father's words. Such had been one of the first lessons of honor he had learned in the Eyrie, and it served him well to this day.

Blinking, Robert looked at Ned with shock. "Well what am me saying, Ned? Of course I'll treat 'er with respect!" He punched Ned in the arm, laughing sheepishly. "She'll 'ant fer nothin'. Dresses, jewels, flowers, whatever 'dat stuff women put on 'imselves to smell nice… whatever she 'ants I'll give it to 'er!" For a naturally boastful man, this came completely sincere.

Lord Arryn thought so, smiling softly as he drank his own mug of ale.

"Thank you, Robert." Ned cuffed him on the back, the two knocking back their round. "I look forward to our families uniting.

The fact that Lyanna likely wanted something other than fancy clothes and perfumed rooms danced in the back of his mind.

* * *

"... the information turned out to be faulty." Clad in his chainmail armor and cloak - clearly for the commanding effect for his visit to the den of snakes - Master of War Mallor Rykker glanced at Varys before shifting back to the head of the table. "Rumors of a secret male Blackfyre pretender in Volantis turned out to be a mere extortion scheme."

Expression placid and unthreatening, Lord Varys only let out a sigh. "The songs weren't as loud or melodious, but it would be an abrogation of my responsibilities if I didn't pass what my birds sang to me to this council."

At the head of the table, in the seat reserved for the monarch, Rhaegar Targaryen pinched the bridge of his nose. Nursing yet another headache. "Well, thank the Gods that it turned out to be nothing." Much of the upswing in the fortunes of Westeros had been due to the fact that House Blackfyre and its ilk had been wiped out to the last man. His father had fought bravely in that war early in his reign, earning the sword that now rested on Rhaegar's hip. "One additional problem that we don't have to deal with."

The men seated around the table nodded at their Prince, each guarded but with the clearly recognizable relief that it was Rhaegar and not Aerys that sat upon the head - Aerys never visited the small council anymore, but his specter served to stifle dissent and free dialogue. Yet another headache for Rhaegar.

"Taxes from the Westerlands are late again," said Lord Mace Tyrell of Highgarden, Master of Coin. Bright, vibrant green and gold of his doublet and breeches making him look like a stuffed peacock, the man wasn't the brightest fire in the hearth but competent enough to manage the full treasury. "I've sent two ravens to Lord Tywin, but have gotten no response." F_uck. Why do the Gods do this to me?_

A fist crashed against the table. "He's still smarming that his Grace saw fit to kick him out on his ass." Hand of the King Jon Connington was a man of dueling emotions. It oscillated over which ruled over him, his love for the crown or his hate of its enemies - which today was firmly centered on House Lannister of Casterly Rock. "Tywin is plotting against the crown."

_Of course he would agree with father._ Did a realm at peace ever seem so chaotic? Rhaegar reasoned it hadn't been this jumbled and tinged with fear since the last days of Viserys I's rule, at the height of anxiety over the succession - that ended with the Dance of Dragons. "I will not allow accusations of plotting without evidence over delays in tax revenue." It irked him that he even had to spell this out. "I'll write to Lord Tywin myself. He can't ignore the summons of someone that outranks him in status." Mace was his equal in status, and his clear inferior in cunning. Seeing Connington's mouth begin to open, Rhaegar held up his hand. "That's enough, Jon."

Mouth closing, Connington seethed at the verbal scolding. "Of course, your Grace." The two had before been as thick as thieves, but the stress of managing Aerys' increasingly deluded commands - as well as something Rhaegar couldn't figure out but that had happened upon his marriage to Elia - were beginning to fray the once strong friendship. _I don't have time to deal with this._ As the Tourney at Harrenhal approached, the Crown Prince's patience was wearing thin.

"One last issue to deal with. I would like to speak with Lord Mooton about the backlog in criminal trials once he was out of his sickbed." Instituting criminal tribunals for accused felons in King's Landing had been one of his father's ideas from early in his reign. It had been successful, but the sickness of Master of Laws Edmyn Mooton over a month before was threatening to unravel it.

No one answered for quite a while. Silence hanging over the council chamber. "My Prince…" It was finally Varys who spoke. "Lord Mooton has gone with the Gods several days ago."

Rhaegar stared, eyes wide and jaw like a gaping fish. "What?!" Rage began to build up. "Why didn't anyone tell me?!" No one responded, and Rhaegar knew the answer to his own question. Head pounding from rage, he waved his hand. "Dismissed. Everyone out… wait, Lord Varys. A moment."

Hands clasped together under his flowing Lysene robes, Varys' piercing eyes twinkled at him with an enigma of thoughts. "Yes, my Prince?"

Voice low - even though the rest of the council was gone, the walls still had ears - Rhaegar asked the question that had been plaguing his mind since the meeting first started. "Have your birds heard anything of my intended."

Varys nodded. Expecting it and with information ready. "The north and the vale are filled with birdsong about the Lady Lyanna. Apparently your father's nephew, the young Lord of Storm's End, is seeking a marriage alliance. Lord Rickard is inclined to accept, though is putting it off until after the tourney."

Normally Rhaegar concealed his emotions from the Master of Whisperers, but this subject hit too close to home. Ashen, he just slumped in his chair. "Thank you, Lord Varys. You may go."

"Glad to be of service, my Prince."

Soon it was just him and Ser Arthur. "If you brood any harder," the Sword of the Morning said after a long silence, "They'll hear it on Dragonstone."

Rhaegar actually chuckled at that, but his humor didn't reach his eyes. "Just perfect, Arthur. Not only is my father practically commanding me to earn the ire of the North by stealing their daughter, Dorne for dishonoring their daughter, and the Westerlands for essentially branding them an enemy to surround, now I'll be punching my cousin and the Stormlands in the face by stealing his betrothed."

"They aren't betrothed yet."

A snort left the Crown Prince. "You know what they say about Steffon Baratheon's sons? Their father was a tempermental, dour, crafty cunt. Robert got the first trait, Stannis got the second, and apparently Renly got the third. My cousin will not take this slight lightly - yet another fire mountain for me to deal with." He sighed. "First Lord Mooton and now this." Rhaegar covered his face, willing the shit to go away.

"You know they were afraid of speaking out until they knew you would be hearing their concerns, right?" The specter of Aerys and his… unpredictable behavior had a chilling effect on King's Landing.

"Yes, Arthur, I know." At least his Kingsguard would always be honest with him. "Gods. I miss Dragonstone. I still had responsibilities and authority there, but at least it was quieter."

Grinning softly at his friend's frustration. Arthur patted him on the shoulder. "You're a dragon, my Prince. Be a dragon." While Rhaegar was fond of brooding, cowering and bitching about everything like a weak cunt wasn't the great man he had the pleasure of serving. "And you should start by telling the Lady Elia of the reason for the tourney. - the true reason for the tourney."

On this, Rhaegar was looking forward more to dealing with his temperamental Baratheon cousin. "You really are a cunt, Arthur."

"When you're brooding, someone has to be," Arthur laughed.

* * *

Leaning back in her rocking chair, the soft Dornish lullabies wafted from Princess Elia's lips. Her hand stroking the chubby back and head of her son as he fed from her breast. The wife of the Crown Prince concentrated on the song, trying to ignore how her beloved Aegon would occasionally bite down on her nipple. A natural occurrence as he teethed, though her son was far less… vicious as his older sister, a hellsraiser even as an infant.

Rhaegar's ministrations in that region were far more pleasing, though those were mutually few and far between.

"It shocks me that you do this yourself," said her lady in waiting. Ellaria Sand may have been the bastard daughter of the Lord of Hellholt and thus not as august as the trueborn Elia, but she had the arrogance and love of luxury that would make a Martell blush. "You're the wife of the future King. Wet nurses wouldn't be hard to find."

"I like doing it myself," Elia shot back. Ellaria was a good lady in waiting and fun enough to tolerate her eccentricities - flushed stableboys and trips to Chataya's brothel on the Street of Silk were tacitly ignored by the smirking Princess - but in this she went to far. "I love all of my children. No other pair of breasts will my son touch." Aegon began to fuss, so Elia pulled him off her breast, cooing and patting his back.

The 'Sand Snake' as many in the Sunspear court had called her only smirked. "Until he grows up. With the blood of the dragon and the viper… I doubt he won't have a trail of bastards through the Seven Kingdoms."

Elia gave her another glare. "Bite your tongue. One whoremonger in my brother Oberyn is enough for House Martell." Even at Rhaegar's age, the Second Prince was notorious for dozens of heartbroken women and men in his wake - Elia was sure he had two bastard daughters already.

"I tell you again, I must meet this brother of yours. He sounds like quite a good time." The toothy grin Ellaria sent her only made Elia shake her head, laughing.

Luckily Elia - now rocking her son softly to sleep - had covered her breast, for Ser Gerold walked into the solar. "His Grace the Crown Prince," announced the Kingsguard. Behind walked Rhaegar, Ser Arthur trailing behind him. At once Ellaria curtseyed - Elia did so as well, though her movements slow and not as supplicant.

It wasn't lost on either of them that they lacked the spark of love enough to make such formalities unnecessary.

"My Lady," Rhaegar bowed in return, nothing if not respectful. The perfect prince and husband. "Gerold, Arthur, wait outside."

Elia understood his tone. "Ellaria, you're dismissed. Go enjoy yourself." Licking her lips, Ellaria curtseyed graciously - swiping a money purse off an end table as she left ahead of the Kingsguards. _Chataya's tonight._ Ellaria didn't waste money if she wished to seduce the male servants. As the door closed, they were alone. "How was the Small Council meeting?" A sigh left her husband. "That bad?" Rhaegar promised that when he was King, she would sit on the meetings whenever possible - till then, they always discussed the matters of state afterwards.

"Worse. Lord Mooton's been dead for days. They were too scared to tell my father, and they dare not propose a successor without him signing off."

"This can't continue indefinitely, husband."

"No, it cannot." Rhaegar's eyes drifted to little Aegon, sleeping peacefully. "May I hold him?"

Smiling softly, Elia outstretched her arms. "I can't deny the Crown Prince the gift of holding his newborn son." Gently taking the baby in his hold, Rhaegar bounced with him, speaking in High Valyrian as he stroked Aegon's cheek. Here was the mighty Rhaegar Targaryen, said to be the greatest Targaryen warrior since Daemon Blackfyre, reduced to a sentimental maiden by his children. It was the same with Rhaenys, and it warmed Elia's heart.

Not that it was enough.

The Dornish beauty had spent years trying to figure out where they had gone wrong - why there was no spark, no matter the two beautiful children they had. No matter how many times they shared a bed. No matter how close friends and confidants they had become. Sure, every young highborn maiden in Westeros had heard of the dashing Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. Even in her sickbed in the Water Gardens, afflicted from everything from the yellow pox to childhood wheezing, Elia held the fantasies of a dashing dragon prince sweeping her off her feet. So when her brother Doran announced she was to marry Rhaegar, she had been quite enamored of the idea.

But neither Doran nor the King treated it as a wedding, more like a business arrangement. Elia had been barred from even seeing her groom, instead subjected to bizzare sessions with Aerys and the Grand Maester where the latter inspected her for childbearing potential heirs while the rather micromanaging King watched. Complaints to Doran went nowhere, her previously loving brother instead browbeating her of the need to both produce and heir immediately while smuggling information about court back to Sunspear. By the time the wedding happened - an equally subdued Rhaegar clearly subjected to some of the same treatment - all the magic had been lost.

Elia married a stranger, no chance to even getting to know him and develop a connection. Their wedding night had been resultantly cold, her tears at losing her maidenhead only dampened by how considerate he was. _It wasn't his fault._ They had tried, oh how they tried. Romantic dinners, walks, flowery talking, Rhaegar was the perfect husband and had repeatedly told her she was the perfect wife, but the spark wasn't there.

Smothered by the King himself. Always the japes, the constant insults and put downs - making the poor girl of ten and six feel like some abomination and breeding machine. No matter how many times Rhaegar, Rhaella, or even Elia herself told her that it was a lie, the King's cruelty had infected her. By the time the King returned from captivity in Duskendale less gregarious and quieter. Crueler but more prone to brood, it was too late._ Our marriage is a duty._ Nothing more. Their times together being that of friends. Their children making them light up, but not as a happy couple among their family. The lack of a spark in their bedroom, pleasurable but never making love. Always a duty, bland and unexciting.

Rhaegar was considerate of course, never making her do anything that she wasn't comfortable with, but she wasn't a cruel. Elia could see in his deep violet eyes the longing for a real marriage, the true passion and pleasure in the act of real lovemaking. Find his "other half."

And the parent in her - the mother of a Princess and the Crown Prince - such worries scared her deeply. Threatening to put a wedge into their marriage, as weak as it was.

Breaking through her thoughts, Rhaegar pressed a kiss to Aegon's forehead - underneath the wisps of silver hair. "I love you, my son." Gently, he handed her back to Elia. "He'll grow up to be a strong prince."

"That he will." Still able to read her husband well, Elia noticed him rather nervous. "Is there something else you've been meaning to tell me, Rhaegar?"

Rubbing the back of his neck, sighing deeply, Rhaegar took a seat in the plush chair beside her. Reaching out to put a hand on her knee. "You have heard of the tourney in Harrenhal my father has scheduled for my nameday, correct?"

She blinked, confused. "Yes I have. My servants have just begun packing…"

"Please stay here, Elia." His eyes were pleading. Begging even. "Please."

This was starting to worry her. "Why would your wife not accompany you to your own nameday tourney?" Most wives would have chalked it up to their husband having a mistress, but Rhaegar would never.

He looked as if it was bringing him physical pain to talk. "My father has grown delusional and paranoid. He thinks Lord Tywin is plotting the Doom of Valyria upon us."

Elia furrowed her brows. "While I don't care for Lord Tywin, I doubt he's capable of that," she japed, but the serious frown on his face didn't go away. "What does that have to do with me?"

"He prepared a rather cunning plot to surround Lord Tywin by binding the North, Riverlands, and Vale to House Targaryen through a marriage alliance." Not a coward by any measure, it looked as if he was forcing himself to look into her eyes. "He repealed the laws of Jaehaerys the Conciliator governing multiple marriage and ordered me betrothed to the daughter of Lord Rickard Stark."

There was silence. Nothing but the wafting of the wind blowing from Blackwater Bay and the soft squirms of Aegon in Elia's arms. No sound left the Princess' mouth, while Rhaegar waited just as quietly for an answer. Most would answer questioning what the other person said, but both knew that Elia heard and understood.

What had to be several minutes passed before Elia finally responded. "And the tourney is supposed to be for…"

"To make the announcement to the Realms." Rhaegar was just as uncomfortable about it as she expected him to be."I think he's enjoying this."

A biting laugh left Elia's lips. "Well of course he does." She shook her head, angry grin on her face. "Gods forbid there's some happiness in Westeros - he's always there to squash it as he did with us!"

Rhaegar's eyes opened, frantic. "Please, my dear. Don't speak so loudly."

"Why the fuck shouldn't I?!" Elia was beyond angry. She was furious and would no longer let anyone try to placate her. "Every damn day I had to put up with his abuse, making my life miserable - and now he's bringing another woman into it! Dishonoring me and my children! I don't believe you, Rhaegar. You probably said nothing to him and went along with it as you always do!"

"Do you think I have a choice?!" Rhaegar hissed, trying to keep calm for his son's sake. "My father is probably looking for an excuse to toss me aside and make Viserys his heir. The poor boy is still young enough to be poisoned by his toxicity."

"So to preserve your claim you condemn Rhaenys and Aegon to lose their birthright to the children you sire from this… northerner!" The last word sounded like the vilest epithet.

The Crown Prince knew what was bothering her the most. "Aegon will still be my heir. I would never condemn Rhaenys or he to the life of a bastard… even thinking they could be lesser than any other children I have." Her rage seemed to dim - replaced with a more… simmering irritation. As if Elia was trying to process a way she could live with the newest slight Aerys delivered her. "Elia…"

"Leave me, Rhaegar." She sighed, trying to calm down. "I know you wouldn't have done this on your own, and I am grateful you don't intend to cast me aside or disinherit our children, but I need time to process this."

"Elia…"

Her eyes glared at him. "Rhaegar, take Aegon and leave!" She sucked in a deep breath. "Please." Nodding, standing up, sad eyes cast down to her before her husband picked up their son and disappeared towards the nursery.

Just sitting there for what seemed like hours, Elia finally stood. Walking across the solar in a haze. Barely seeing herself in the mirror as she took the red wine from her homeland out of the flagon to pour it in the glass. Bringing it to her lips, draining the entire goblet. Moving to fill the glass again, only to stare at the flagon with hooded eyes.

Eyes that soon grew red.

With a snarl that she didn't know she could make, the goblet flew across the room. Smashing against the far wall into a million pieces.

* * *

Walder Frey was a pig. And, as Lyanna found out within four seconds after being introduced to the man, a lecherous pig.

The great hall of the Twins was packed, over a hundred onlookers dancing and feasting on the fat of the northern riverlands - quite fertile even as summer morphed slowly into autumn. Lord Frey had rolled out the welcome wagon for what had to be his most important visitor in years, having greeted her father with full pomp and circumstance. Each of his children, sworn swords, and his - third… fourth wife? Lyanna couldn't be bothered to remember - were trotted out. Walder at the arriving line personally. His gracious kiss of Lyanna's hand made her skin crawl, as did the obvious lust in his eyes as he looked over her body.

Fleeing the high table was a necessity. Abandoning it for the safety of the main floor, where the lesser Northern lords and her father's bannermen enjoyed their meals and drinks. Lyanna knew these uncouth, honest brawlers and was comfortable with them. What she couldn't stand was the slimy Lord of the Twins offering to marry off both of his youngest daughters to her father and youngest brother along with each girl's weight in silver.

All blessings to him, Rickard politely declined. Lyanna would have declined as well, only with more choice words. _Perhaps that's why I'm not the Lady of Winterfell._ Finesse wasn't exactly her style.

It appeared from a cursory scan of the hall that the rest of her family and retinue didn't share such reservations about being among the Freys as Lyanna did. Rickard was chatting with Lord Walder about this and that - if he was perturbed by the rejected offer, he didn't show it. Brandon was impressing a group of giggling girls with a tale of fighting the wildlings with Willam Dustin and Martyn Cassel, the maidens ooing and ahing at his boasts and wild waving of his arms - utterly eating it up.

Off to the right, Dacey was shamelessly flirting with one of Walder's sons. The boy obviously desperate to get under her skirts. Lyanna smirked to herself. He'd have to wait for the snows in Dorne. Dacey might have been a flirt, but the Freys obviously didn't know what the rest of the North did - Mormont women spread their legs for no one lest they proved themselves. Lyanna envied her lady in waiting for being able to enjoy life anywhere. Much as she wanted to, the she-wolf just felt… suffocated in the south. Without the wide open spaces and looser minds of the north.

Further laughter brought her back to Brandon, leading a giggling Moyra Frey out of the hall. Her father seemed not to notice, but the beady eyes of Walder Frey noticed all. Lyanna rolled her eyes. Her older brother and his antics - he'd better watch out for himself.

"Seems Lord Walder made his offer to the wrong Stark."

Lyanna's head whipped around to find the smiling face of her middle brother staring back at her. "NED!" With a rather girlish squeal - she'd deny it later- Lyanna leapt out of her seat and embraced her long lost brother, burying her face in the crook of his neck. "When did you get here? Why are you here?!" The questions tumbled from her lips rapidly, so excited she was to see Ned. Pulling back, her grin was infectious. Only finally seeing Ned could end the morose sadness that had engulfed her since before leaving Winterfell. "I thought you were travelling with the Arryn column to Harrenhal?"

Ned grinned, just as happy to be here as Lyanna. "Well I was, but I couldn't bear the chance at having to wait any more weeks to see my beloved sister." Squeeing, Lyanna embraced her brother yet again. Only wishing that Benjen were there so that the family could reunite. "Lord Arryn is heading there with Robert and I'll see them again at the tourney."

With the mention of "Robert," Lyanna's newfound happiness burned into ashes. The light in her eyes darkened, smile shifting into a scowl that caused Ned to recoil. "Brother…" she said as icily as the coldest northern winter. "May we speak outside the hall?"

Blinking, unable to know what turned their joyous reunion to hells in a split second, Ned could only nod. Face holding the expression of a deer caught right before an arrow pierced its hide. "Sure, Lya. Follow me." Quietly, melting into the cacophony of the crowd, he led her out to the hallways. Winding through lines of servants till they reached a secluded alcove. "Alright Lya, what's this abou… ow!" Lyanna smacked him in the shoulder. Hard. "What the… ow!" Another into his chest.

"You asshole!" Lyanna was seeing red. Remembering Ned's role in her planned slave auction to a bastard-siring oaf. "How dare you." She kept smacking and hitting him, secure in the knowledge that Ned would never hit her back. "How dare you!"

Hands up, Ned struggled to shield himself. "Lya… Lya…" Finally, he grabbed at her hands, stilling her. "Lya stop." Lips pursed tightly, anger still in her stormy grey eyes, Lyanna nevertheless relented. Merely crossing her arms. "What in seven hells was that about?!"

Eyes narrowing, Lya couldn't believe Ned could be this dense. Was he always this clueless? "Robert Baratheon?" she hissed out. His eyes widened in understanding. "Why do you hate me so, Ned? I thought I was your sister, not some broodmare to be sold."

"What? Why in seven hells would you think that, Lya. You're my sister and I love you." It hurt him deeply that she would say that. "Robert and I were practically raised as brothers by Lord Arryn. I've known him for half my life and he'd make a fine husband for you." _And Lya would be perfect for cleaning up Robert's act._ It just seemed perfect.

The she-wolf of Winterfell didn't see it that way. "Are you sure about that, Brother?" Her voice was colder than the wall. "Did you knew about Mya Stone when you suggested him to father?"

A sigh left Ned's lips. _Of course Brandon would tell her._ He only wished it had been himself - or better yet Robert - that told her about that little secret. "I'm sorry, Lya. I was planning to tell you when we saw each other again."

"How could you even suggest such a man, Ned. A loose man! A whoremonger!"

"Robert is not a whoremonger. He may be gregarious and a flirt, but he is a good man." He was his friend. Ned knew him like a brother. "Jon Arryn raised him for gods' sake."

Lyanna didn't buy it. "You suggested my hand to a man who already disgraced himself and his house with a bastard? Please, explain that to me, dear brother."

A deep sigh - Ned knew Lyanna had every right to feel betrayed about this. It wasn't a good look for any man, let alone a high lord. While most southern Lords wouldn't care a bit about what their daughters thought, Ned knew their father would take Lyanna's wishes into consideration. _As he should._ Robert would have to pass muster. "I grant, that was wrong on his part, but he's still young. At the time Robert was still the heir to Storm's End. Now that his parents have died and he's a Lord and ready to marry, he'll change."

"Are you sure about this?" Lyanna stared intently at him. "Don't lie to me because he's your friend." Ned's character was the best of the entire Stark family - Lyanna knew he wouldn't be friends with an oaf, so his opinion mattered greatly to her.

"If you truly don't wish to marry him, I'll support you in that to father, but don't decide anything till after you meet him."

Lyanna ran her hand through her silky brown locks, a nervous tick that all of the Stark pack shared. "Alright Ned," she sighed. "Since you think so highly of him, I'll make my choice once I meet him."

Ned smiled. "That's all I'm asking."

Returning his smile, she brought him in for an embrace. "I truly did miss you, big brother."

"I missed you too." Pulling back, he laughed. "Dacey Mormont as your Lady in Waiting? I'm sure Nan took that in good humor."

The laughter was infectious. "Oh, you don't know the half of it. Come on," she pulled on his arm. "Perhaps I'll be your matchmaker this time."

Ned blushed. "I don't think I'm tough enough to handle a she-bear of House Mormont." Lyanna smacked him in the shoulder, brother and sister wearing matching grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed my portrayal of Elia. It was difficult to create, given where I want the character to go, but I think it works. Methinks both she and Rhaegar are in denial over their real feelings due to how fucked up their marriage was in the beginning, not due to their own fault, though.
> 
> It was fun writing young Robert. My inspiration for him is Gaston from the animated Beauty and the Beast, only less ill-mannered (at least at first). So entitled and self-absorbed that he genuinely thinks that his way is the right way for everyone around him.
> 
> Walder Frey was a cunt from the beginning.
> 
> Next up: Lyanna meets Robert and the Targaryens arrive at Harrenhal.


	4. Wine, Women, and Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all. I'm back with chapter four, and this is a big one!
> 
> I get why Ned is getting a bad rap, but I want to make it clear that he's not malicious. He is just a younger version of the naive character he is in season one. Being raised happily in the north and then by the honorable Jon Arryn has given him a rather rosy view of the world. Thus he takes Robert at his word for the most part.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

"Open the gates!" announced the herald, forming up the van of the great column of mounted men and wheeled carts trudging along the Kingsroad. "Make way for his Grace, Aerys II of House Targaryen!" Before them the wooden gates of Harrenhal swung open, allowing the first rider to pass along the already lowered drawbridge into the massive outer courtyard. The large banners of the black bats contrasted with the many red three-headed dragons carried by the hundreds of Targaryen household guardsmen. Aerys didn't leave the Red Keep often, but when he did he travelled with a small army.

"One can still smell the pyre of Harren the Black," stated Arthur Dayne. Leaning left on his horse, he punched Oswell Whent in the arm. "Told you your sister should have hired more washerwomen."

Ser Whent rolled his eyes, previously enjoying being back home. "That jape wasn't funny the last time we were here and it wasn't funny now." The grin on Arthur's face belied the fact it would be used far more times in the near future. "Besides, all the lye in the world can't clean out the metaphysical."

"Ser Arthur." Both experienced knights turned to see the Lion of Lannister approaching. Dark grey steel breastplate with the Targaryen sigil stamped atop it barely masking his golden aura. "What is wrong with His Grace the Prince?"

Sharing a look with Oswell, Arthur shrugged. "The day where he will have to face his… northerner is approaching. I wouldn't doubt he'd be nervous."

Jaime nodded. "But does he always just head alone into the woods?"

"Not the woods, if Ser Barristan is to be believed." Oswell grinned at Arthur. "Isn't it just a shame that he takes ol' Boldy out with him and not you?"

"Fuck off, Whent," Arthur shot back, good-naturedly. They trotted underneath the gate, thankful for the gentle breeze from the God's Eye that cooled them within their armor. "Jaime, go keep Gerold and Lewyn company until the King leaves, then escort the Queen to her chambers." It went unspoken… the King was not fond of being close to his wife for most circumstances. They took separate wheelhouses, and slept in separate chambers.

Beaming underneath his helmet, Jaime tapped his hand against it and reared his horse back, galloping to the royal wheelhouses. Arthur and Oswell gave each other a knowing glance.

Staring over his shoulder at the massive spires of the great castle of Harrenhal - melted stone still remaining from when Balerion the Black Dread wiped out Harren Hoare's rancid line from existence - Jaime felt a sense of deja vu. Of remembrance. For here was the place just one year before where the King had knighted him after his victory in the melee for Lord Whent's daughter's nameday. Where he had almost won the joust on behalf of House Lannister. Where his oath as a Kingsguard had been sworn on the old gods and the new.

Jaime let escape a sigh from his lips. Oh how he wished to be returned to those days. When his ideals still meant something and dreams still waited, fully able to be realized.

Lord Tywin Lannister had not been the most loving person… seven hells, affection from him was rare even before his mother died birthing Tyrion, let alone after. For his sister Cersei the entirety of her childhood was being groomed as a marriage prospect to enhance House Lannister. For him,Tywin saw his golden-haired successor. A man skilled in battle and sharp in mind to continue the legacy he built off the chaos of his father Tytos. Jaime, unlike the 'deformed Imp' of his younger brother - though Jaime loved Tyrion unconditionally - was such an heir.

But the young lion bore such no mind. He cared not about ruling lands or petty politics, though tutelage under his father had exposed a decent grasp of it. No, it was the mantle of the Kingsguard that had been his dream since he could remember. The Kings of the Rock or Targaryen monarchs hadn't been his heroes, but noble knights like Corlys Veleryon, Aemon the Dragonknight, or Duncan the Tall. All Kingsguards, all part of the best of the best with the sole purpose to protect the king. Oh had Tywin raged and Cersei wept when he announced his intention to accept the white cloak even after the King rejected Tywin's proposal of marriage between Rhaegar and his sister. But no one could dissuade Jaime.

Upon the fields of Harrenhal, the young lion the at the top of the world when he achieved that dream - Ser Jaime Lannister, brother of the Kingsguard. The youngest in all of history to top it off! An achievement sending the new knight to King's Landing full of chivalry and expectations... Plans for his exploits to grace the great book alongside Aemon or Barristan the Bold.

The royal wheelhouse rattled into the courtyard, Jaime surrounding it with Ser Gerold and Ser Lewyn. All around the Targaryen guardsmen and the retinue of House Whent all fell to their knees… all but the three Kingsguards as Jaime drew open the door for the King to step out. Aerys was dressed in his best today. Flowing robes and perfectly styled hair reminiscent of descriptions of Jaehaerys the Conciliator. All but his eyes were the epitome of a great King, only the wild violet gaze exposing the true paranoia and guardedness within. Without even acknowledging Jaime, he made his way to the waiting Lord Walter Whent.

"Harrenhal is yours, your Grace," the Lord stated, rising from his bended knee. "Preparations for your son's tourney are going ahead of schedule."

"Good," the King replied rather evenly, beginning to walk into the castle. "Finally someone with a little initiative, unlike the cunts back in the capitol…" Gerold and Lewyn fell into place behind the King while Jaime stayed behind. Watching the man that had turned all his dreams to dust.

Sword at his side and armor draping him, the newly knighted Jaime was forced to confront the pathetic excuse of a king he swore to protect. His father's rants were… quite accurate for once. Every day Aerys slipped further into paranoia, into a brooding madness threatening all around him. He would accuse others of treason for imaginary crimes, torturing them. Some he let go, some he imprisoned. Many, Lord Tywin included, were part of the King's twisted fantasies of wildfire… _"The true tool of Targaryen Kings."_

Forced to be part of these, enduring the demands of the King to behead 'traitors' and abuse hapless courtiers… Jaime's dreams and respect for the Kingsguard began wear away. How could he be tasked to support such a King? Such a monster? The gusto and good cheer he had dove into his vows with was replaced with a growing cynicism. Morosity, constant drinking during his off hours, withdrawing into himself... all just too much for a man only ten and eight with too many dreams exposed to reality...

Until an angel appeared in his life.

Genuine smile returning to his face, Jaime bounded quickly to the second wheelhouse. Behind the King's, it was a mutual decision from both monarchs to wait until Aerys had left inside the castle for the occupant to emerge. Curling his fingers around the handle, he opened the door, revealing the shimmering silver hair of the Queen Rhaella. Frustrated frown turning into a warm smile at the sight of her personal guard.

It never stopped causing the young lion's cheeks to glow. "Your Grace." He bowed.

"Get up, Ser Jaime," Rhaella waved him off. "I am in need of your assistance - hard to walk in this poofy thing." Her characterization of the latest in Crownlands fashion wasn't wrong, the Queen needing his hand to ease her out of the wheelhouse. "The Dornish or northerners know how to properly dress. Simple wools and silks."

"Of course, my Queen." From Cersei such frivolity had annoyed him, but with Rhaella he did not mind the slightest.

It was Crown Prince Rhaegar that was his salvation. Switching out the young Jaime with the more experienced Gerold Hightower and Lewyn Martell on the King's duty, placing him instead as Rhaella's bodyguard. _May the old gods and new always bless my noble prince._ The quiet and reclusive Queen that Jaime had rarely seen for his first eight moonturns under the white cloak truly emerged the light in the darkness. Kind, compassionate, wise, gentle… a beautiful and graceful dragon as overshadowed by the King's bitterness as everyone in the Red Keep.

A sigh left the Queen's lips, looking up at the spires of Harren the Black's crowning achievement and undoing. "I do hope Lady Whent gives me the same chambers in the high tower as last time. I don't think I could tolerate any other."

"Are you alright, my Queen?" Jaime asked, daring to place his hand on the small of Rhaella's back to help her up the steps to the keep. Giving a little push - something he remembered his father doing for his mother long ago. A truly intimate act, but not too much of a boundary cross. It warmed him greatly, though.

Chuckling softly, Rhaella's sweet voice wafted out like a breath of fresh air. "They say those wheelhouses are the lap of luxury." A snort followed. "Frankly, Ser Jaime, that's a crock of shit."

"My my." Jaime laughed, armor clinking as he continued to help her up. "Such unqueenly language, your Grace." He knew he was breaching protocol that someone like Aerys wouldn't tolerate, but Rhaegar encouraged it with Arthur and Barristan - Rhaella never said anything about it to Jaime, so he went with it.

"It's true, so very true." A sigh, creamy lids fluttering closed over her violet eyes. "I've asked his Grace to let me ride like our son, but no. 'A Queen must be present but not seen.' Ugh, it's like a hothouse in that wheelhouse, and not the relaxing kind."

Gods, Rhaegar becoming King couldn't happen soon enough. Perhaps then Rhaella could have the peace and serenity Jaime knew she deserved. "I could summon Lady Whent's servants to draw you a hot bath, your Grace."

A beaming smile came Jaime's way, as if Rhaella's entire face lit up. Eyes sparkling with compassion and kindness, hair shimmering in the sunlight. "That is splendid, Ser Jaime. I don't know what I'd do without you as my guard."

There it was, the same image that appeared in his dreams every night - warming him, torturing him… Jaime shook his head, inwardly. Face reality, Lannister. Rhaegar would give him the dream of serving a great King. The other… _as if anything would ever happen._ Rhaella was his compassionate charge, nothing more.

Regardless, if he could grant her even the simplest of smiles, the degradations of the day were worth it.

* * *

And the moment was here. One Lyanna Stark both imagined and dreaded for years - such only tripled in intensity when learning of her betrothed. Robert of House Baratheon, now standing in front of her in the tent. Hands clasped behind his back and waiting for her. Herself shifting, eyes flickering everywhere and bouncing on the balls of her feet. To say it was awkward would be an understatement.

All had been a blur for Lyanna, Robert and Jon Arryn arriving only after the Starks had just set up their tent on the tourney grounds - other Lords having taken the permanent quarters in the castle. The tent flap hadn't been drawn back for a second before Robert scooped her brother Ned into his arms and proceeded to squeeze all the air out of his lungs. Only a smack from Lord Arryn had made him let Ned go, a clear indicator of the man's personality. Introductions followed, and while Lord Arryn had been as charming and respectful as the one and only time she had met him, Lyanna saw how Robert was practically mesmerized by her, begging her father for a one on one meeting. A half an hour in her private alcove in the tent was what he received, and there they were.

It would be Robert that broke the ice. "I must say, Lyanna, your beauty was quite understated by Ned."

She blushed - while she was more aloof and grounded than most maidens, flattery did affect her. "Well… I doubt my brother would want to gush about my features in that manner." The Lord of Storm's End laughed at her jape, smacking his gloved hand against his breeches. Lyanna smiled softly. Perhaps it was a good start.

No one could say Robert Baratheon wasn't handsome. Quite the opposite, actually. Slightly swarthy from the sun, he was built like a bear. Knightly tunic stretched tight over bulging muscles and heavyset shoulders, his legs were proportioned for his imposing height. He had a roguish charm about him, the self-confident smile of a warrior who knew he was hot stuff. The last was a little concerning to Lyanna, but overall there was nothing physically wrong with him.

_I bet all the girls swoon over him in the Stormlands…_ Therein existed the main worry in her mind. _Well, I still have to get to know him._ "So, Robert. I…"

"I shall be sure to compete in the joust, my dear Lyanna," he interrupted her. "The Queen of Love and Beauty deserves to be someone as breathtaking as yourself." Without letting her speak, he abruptly grabbed her hand, bringing it up to his mouth and kissing it. His breath wafted onto her - it reeked of wine. "Permit me to wear your favor?"

Drawing her hand back, slowly so not to offend, Lyanna blinked. A bit forward, but not out of the ordinary. "I can find no reason to not offer my favor to a man after my hand," she finally replied.

The answer made him grin, a wide beaming smile that displayed his row of teeth. All there, but some discolored. "It is decided then. I shall win the joust and crown you Queen of Love and Beauty. Nothing but the best for my future wife."

This she frowned at. "We have not been officially betrothed, Lord Baratheon…"

"Call me Robert, my dear Lyanna."

_Can't the man take a hint?_ "Robert… don't you think it's a bit presumptuous?"

"Pish, a formality," he waved off the concern. "No one has ever said no to Robert Baratheon!" Plopping onto her cot, he stretched his arms, patting the spot next to him for her to sit - as if this were his tent and not hers. Lyanna nevertheless complied, resolved to keep her promise to Ned.

Several minutes passed as Robert started in on stories of his prowess in combat and on a horse, arms sweeping wide as he added his own commentary to the various battle tactics and sword moves that necessitated profanity on his part. Not once did he let her get a word in, too engrossed in his own exploits. "Have I ever told you of my victory in the melee of the Great Tourney of Highgarden?" His entire eyes sparkled, a memory he seemed to cherish. "For the birth of Mace Tyrell's little brat… I don't doubt that dolt would celebrate the birth of a daughter."

"I've heard the lady Margaery is a rather adorable infant," Lyanna murmured.

The young Lord snickered. "Probably will be a juicy offering to stoke Mace's ego, but a tourney to celebrate? Only a son is worth celebrating, and I plan on having many sons with my wife." He wiggled his thick brows at her.

Lyanna pursed her lips. "And if I only have daughters, my Lord?"

"Ha! As if."

Clenching her teeth, willing herself to keep calm instead of simply laughing at him and telling him to get out, Lyanna tried a different tactic. "Would you like to know something about me?"

Robert peered at her, a smile forming on his face - one that looked to Lyanna as if he was humoring her. "Of course, my Lady, although I already know everything about your great beauty through my own eyes."

Blinking, she didn't know what to make of it. His words were sweet, but there was something about them that… unsettled her. _Give him a chance, Lya._ At least he seemed to be interested in her. "Here, let me show you." Beaming at the thought of her favorite book, she stood from her cot, dress swaying around her legs as she moved towards the hope chest containing her belongings. Pushing the clothes and the sheathed sword to the side in order to find it.

Behind her, Robert whistled. "A sword? They sure have strange ways of raising girls up in the North." He laughed leaning up to smack Lyanna on the backside - the crude gesture nearly causing her to stumble. "Don't worry, my dear Lyanna. There are no wildling savages in the Stormlands. You won't have need for a sword."

"But what if I would like a sword?" she asked quietly, more rhetorical than anything.

But Robert heard, and proceeded to answer it anyway. "Oh my wild wife to be, I'll make sure you have the finest needle and thread in the Seven Kingdoms.

Lyanna bit back the response on her tongue, still hoping to salvage this and get through to her all but official betrothed. Pulling out the book from the bottom of the trunk. "Here it is, Lord Baratheon." She offered a small smile, sitting next to Robert - the young Lord scooting closer till their sides touched, which Lyanna decided to ignore.

His eyebrows scrunched together. "A book?"

"Aye, it's called _Dancing Dragons_ by King Viserys II Targaryen, before he was the King." Opening the binding to the pages of the marriage between Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon - her favorite. Robert peered at the pages, clearly struggling to read the words. "It's about the Dance of Dragons, a marvelous read. My most prized possession," Lyanna said genuinely. Bearing a bit of her soul to the man she would soon have to marry.

Offering him the book, letting Robert look at it closely, she waited in anticipation as to what he would say. Hoping that he would be interested and they could - finally - find common ground. Pursing his lips, the Stormlands Lord gently closed the book. Turning to peer at her with an… odd look on his face. As if he were trying to understand something he had never witnessed before. "You really find this interesting?" he asked her after the long silence.

That… could mean anything. Lyanna decided to think it positive. "What could be more interesting than such a time? The Queen and her dear husband, fighting desperately to protect themselves from a usurper bent on destroying them. Gods, the greatest romance story of Westerosi History."

Suddenly, Robert laughed. A deep belly laugh, as if all of what Lyanna told him was the most amusing thing he had ever heard. "Oh Lyanna… seven hells…" He reached out with his beefy hand, pinching her cheeks affectionately. Such a gesture was lost to Lyanna, for the book had slipped from his lap and onto the bare grass and dirt of the tent floor. The most precious single item in Lyanna's possession, a gift from Ned so dear to her, carelessly discarded by Robert. He didn't even notice. "You are adorable, my little she-wolf. Everything about you is exquisite."

She squirmed, trying to reach for the text. "Robert… my book."

"Don't worry, my dear Lyanna. You won't have time for such frivolity while you're caring for my sons and my castle." He stared into her captivating grey eyes, growing mesmerized by them. "I know you seek great drama and love, and I shall provide them with my sword arm and affections. Far better than some musty old book written by cunts long dead."

Lyanna realized something in his tone. This wasn't condescension or sarcasm, but genuine. He actually believed such was the highest form of affection and devotion to a woman. She didn't know if that was better.

He figured her silence to be rapture - just like all the other ladies and girls that found themselves in Robert Baratheon's spell. Fitting, since he was rapidly falling into hers. "You are beautiful. Worthy of me, belonging with me where the sun and the clouds can shine above you." Without warning he lurched forward, pressing his lips against hers.

Gasping at the suddenness of it all, Lyanna's eyes only widened further as he took it as an invitation rather than a warning. Tongue shoving inside. Dominating, plundering. A charging stag crashing upon the being that threatened it, uncaring of anything but its own instinct. Grunting like a rutting bull, Robert began to push her none to gently flat on the cot. The instincts overpowering him…

Her hands were frantic. Panicking. Shoving against his chest until his lips popped off hers, drenching her in his saliva. His own eyes both clouded over and confused as to why she would reject him. Lyanna breathless as she recovered her bearings. Sucking in air down her lungs. "Please… I'm a lady… wait… wedding night…" It was all she could say, the she-wolf's thoughts all hammering one fact over and over again. _My first kiss…_ Something she had been dreaming of for years, nothing like her dreams.

Hauling himself upright, Robert seemed to follow her. "Oh… sorry." He chuckled, wicked grin returning to his face. "Got too carried away there, and I respect your propriety, dear Lyanna." The young Lord bent down to kiss her forehead, Lyanna still too breathless to respond. "Don't worry, my little wolf. Our wedding night shall be soon. Then you won't have to restrain yourself." Still grinning, he stood tall and bowed. "Till later, my Lady. My dreams will be of you." And with that, he ducked out of her tent, leaving her alone.

Several moments passed before the she-wolf realized he had left. Quickly, Lyanna scrambled off the cot and grabbed her book off the ground. Closing her eyes and clutching it to her breast protectively. Letting Ned's precious gift to her ease the tempest in her heart. A winter blizzard that had ripped through every imagination and fantasy she had had over meeting her future husband. Not the devoted Prince Daemon but someone more akin to who Aegon II had been. An entitled highborn that felt the world revolved around himself.

A man Ned had praised as a good match.

But instead of coming to conclusions and letting her heart try to handle it, her intelligent mind kept replaying one portion of the meeting. How Robert had kissed her, intending to ravish her completely. It was smooth on his part. Polished, as if he had done it before. Many times.

_Mya Stone._

Nestling the book safely in her trunk, Lyanna grabbed a cloak resting close by. Determined to get answers.

* * *

Strolling down the grassy fields, Robert almost felt like skipping - like drawing his sword and stabbing it up in the air. Cup of the finest arbor gold in hand, he raised it in a toast to himself. To the most breathtaking wildflower in the world that was now his. Gods, I am a lucky man.

He and Ned, bonded as brothers for life - Robert would have accepted a betrothal had it been with a fifty year ugly maid. But what he had gotten… His luck was as strong now as it was growing up - every triumph had been his with only the barest of efforts. Of course love would be the latest prize for him to win.

And not one part of Robert saw anything wrong with that. Any woman would swoon over being his prize in love. Why not? They had when the prize was merely his fancy.

_"Pish, a formality. No one has ever said no to Robert Baratheon!"_

No one had, and Rickard Stark wasn't going to be the first.

Lyanna was perfect. A willowy, kind, statuesque goddess of a woman that would make the perfect Lady of Storm's End. One to manage his household, charm the visiting Lords, and bear him half a dozen strapping sons and heirs that would carry the Baratheon legacy. Tough bruisers, half-stag and half-wolf. Better than any dour sourpusses or cowardly weasels that Stannis or Renly would sire. _As if that mincing buggerer Renly could ever sire a child._

His mind drifted to that first glimpse of his soon to be wife. The sweet and innocent face of a maiden clashing wildly with the stunning body of a goddess. Someone to cherish and hold up as a paragon of virtue. The greatest conquest the great Robert of House Baratheon could secure, but gods… He downed the wine till there wasn't a drop left in his cup. Unfortunately, while it relaxed him the flush his betrothed has given him only grew.

Tent growing tight in his breeches, the feel of her body against his affecting him. Her delicious lips tasting like peppermint. He was horny, and in need of release. Many a man would vent their sexual frustration themselves, but not Robert Baratheon. He wasn't some pathetic girl of a man, and nothing compared to a tight, warm body to find release.

And he knew just where to go.

With the massive tent city being erected almost overnight outside the great castle of Harrenhal - itself the largest fortress in the entire Seven Kingdoms - the dozens of lords and thousands of bannermen, sworn swords, and assorted retinue were in need of the necessities of life. Food, drink, metalwork, clothes… hundreds of vendors from all corners of the Realm had descended on Harrenhal to take advantage of the Crown Prince's nameday. As plying the trade in one of the important necessities of life, this included hundreds of whores both female and male. Dressed provocatively and flashing their… assets to potential clients.

These individual actors were dwarfed by the massive mobile brothel that the notorious King's Landing madame Chatalya had brought over from the capitol to Harrenhall to scoop up the coin of the countless lords that would arrive. Giant tent the second-largest of the entire tourney grounds, in strode Robert Baratheon with a grin on his face. Already growing harder at the thoughts of delicious female flesh he would be sampling.

Not noticing the hooded figure following him nearly twenty feet behind.

Dark skin exotic and alluring in the midst of the Westerosi, Chatalya opened her arms and embraced the young Lord of Storm's End, kissing his cheeks. "Robert Baratheon. Welcome to my establishment." It paid to know the various high lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms and their sigils. He was drunk too, the perfect client.

"My reputation precedes me," laughed Robert, smacking Chatalya on the back. "I want someone young. Ten and seven. Fair, not dark."

The madame nodded. "No problem, I have many women who would do…"

Robert held up his fingers. "Two. I want two."

Chatalya grinned sultrily. "That is costly… though I'm sure it won't be a problem." Two dozen gold dragons tumbled into her hand. She licked her lips. "Perfect. Sarella! Cassana!" Out of the gossamer fabric that shrouded the various compartments of the mobile brothel came a redhead and a blonde. Bodies lithe and tight, but with large breasts that threatened to spill from their skimpy dresses. "Be sure to take care of Lord Baratheon here. He is one of the highest Lords in the land." With a throaty chuckle, the madame went to greet the other customers.

The ale and wine already beginning to cloud his mind in the wonderful haze. Wide smile planted on his face, Robert wrapped his arms around the two beauties he had purchased for the next few hours. "'Allo my pretties," he belted, grin widening at their giggling. They weren't as breathtaking as his Lyanna, but they weren't going to be his lady wife. Purposes were quite different to him. "So where are ye' from?"

Sharing a look with her colleague, the blonde smirked at the handsome young Lord. Patting his chest just as she had been taught. "Sarella is from Maidenpool, my Lord. I am from near Summerhall, in town for the… opportunities." The last came in a sultry whisper, nipping his earlobe.

Robert laughed merrily. "Stormlands, eh?" He groped her tits, whistling with approval. "Perhaps head to Storm's End after. I'll be sure to give ya' plenty of work!" Feeling boastful, he threw his head back, voice booming through the entire tent. "All of ya' come to Storm's End, ladies." The drink had loosened his inhibitions - not that he had many to begin with. "This beast may soon be shackled but it wont forget this heaven of booze and women anytime soon!" Feminine cheers answered him, squeals and claps only making him feel more at ease.

From a hole ripped into the side of the tent, a pair of grey eyes blazed pure fury. The hooded figure darted away from the brothel, fists clenched from what they had just heard.

* * *

Hair billowing out from behind her, elaborate hairstyle absolutely ruined by the winds gusting around her, Lyanna could barely see through her scorching sobs. Eyes stinging as the air shot past her and Winter. The horse urged faster and faster through the vibrant green underbrush of the Riverlands forest. Lush with plant life, a beautiful sight. But the she-wolf didn't notice. Didn't care.

All on her mind was the events of the last few hours, filling her with a fury so hot it would have melted Valyrian steel. Starks were ice, not fire, and the flames nearly brought her to her knees.

She had to escape. Had to get out of the tight confines of the great castle and tourney grounds, grabbing her trusty steed and riding him saddleless into the woods as she had done many a time back home. Everything passed by in a blurr, little did she care.

_A whoremonger. I'm betrothed to a whoremonger._ The image of her future husband and his thick arms wrapped around the shoulders of two bare-chested prostitutes, oafish grin on his face, was seared into Lyanna's mind. _Ned was wrong! They were all wrong!_ That was to be her life, one of metaphorical chains shackling her inside a keep with half a dozen screaming children while her drunken husband fucked half of the Stormlands.

_I don't want to get married!_

_I… I can't live in chains!_

The pain, the anger overwhelming her, Lyanna suddenly pulled back on the reins. Winter neighing loudly in panic as she skidded to a stop - rearing back and kicking with her front hooves. Normally Lyanna was an accomplished rider who never let herself be forced into an emergency skid, but the swirling emotions simply overwhelmed her reasoning. Without a second's hesitation she leaped off Winter's back, unsheathing the sword Brandon had gifted her for her fifteenth nameday. Eyes red, she looked around, practically seething. Finally raising the blade and swinging at the closest tree in an enraged frenzy.

"Fuck you Robert Baratheon!" she screeched, throat burning. Sword gouging deep chunks off the poor beech tree that served as the target of her rage. Fuck you father! Fuck you Ned!" Lyanna could care less, face hot with tears and snot. Red with pure rage. "Kill me, gods! New or old, I don't care! I will not marry that... that… THAT FUCKING!" Thwack! "WHORING!" Thwack! "DRUNKEN!" Thwack! "DISRESPECTFUL!" Thwack! "DISGUSTING!" Thwack! "OAF!"

With a final snarl and swipe of her blade a branch was sliced clean in two, the wood and leaves clattering to the forest floor with a chaotic crash.

The sound hitting her ears was almost like a bucket of icy water drenching her. Lyanna blinked, breathing deeply as the red tint of her vision began to fade. Anger and rage slowly transforming into a sense of fatigue. A deep sadness that permeated her very soul, the weight of the North crashing upon her shoulders. Tears began to form once more in her eyes.

_I won't marry Robert… I can't…_

_"You will do your duty, Lyanna."_

Standing there, sniffing. Droplets staining her dress as they trickled down her cheek, Lyanna felt a gentle nuzzling on her hair. "Oh, Winter." She turned, greeted with her beloved companion's gentle nicks of affection. Hand lifting up to stroke her muzzle, Lyanna gently rested her forehead upon the soft hide. "I don't know if he'll even let me have you." The soft croo of the horse sounded too much like a requiem for her.

Alone in the woods with only a faithful friend that couldn't even speak to her, Lyanna simply let the tears fall...

And then she heard it.

Ears registering the light sound in a split second, it took a moment before Lyanna parsed it out of the background noise of the forest. Not birdsong, not the wind, but a melody. Wiping the tears from her eyes, curiosity overtook her. I thought I was alone? Sheathing her sword, Lyanna cocked her head and listened closely to where she thought the music was coming from.

_"High in the halls of the kings who are gone,_

_"Jenny would dance with her ghosts._

_"The ones she had lost and the ones she had found,_

_"And the ones who had loved her the most."_

She knew not of the song, but it tugged on her heartstrings nonetheless. A tale of love and of sadness, of a poor girl pining for her lost loves. Intrigued, Lyanna pushes back the underbrush - ignoring the branches and brambles scraping against her dress. Following the music, with each step the melody growing clearer and clearer.

_"The ones who'd been gone for so very long,_

_She couldn't remember their names._

_They spun her around on the damp old stones,_

_Spun away all her sorrow and pain."_

Ahead, the sun shone through a clearing in the forest. The sweet wafting of music drifting from within it - sight blocked off by a thick growth of bushes and trees. As quiet as possible, not wanting to spook the person who was producing such an enrapturing sound, Lyanna fell to her knees and crawled through the bushes. Gently pushing them aside to secure a hidden glimpse of the singer.

_"And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave,_

_"Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave."_

It was a man - a young man in his prime. He sat against a tree, dressed in a simple red tunic and riding breeches. Cleanliness indicating a man of means and posture showing a man of class. A red and black cloak was hung on a branch of the tree, horse tied up to another tree several feet away. He held a harp in his hands, tune created from the strings and words crooning out from his lips.

_"They danced through the day,_

_"And into the night through the snow that swept through the hall._

_"From winter to summer then winter again,_

_"'Til the walls did crumble and fall."_

Lyanna never heard someone sing so beautifully. Each word was more graceful than the last, the way his long pale fingers wavered through the cords of his harp putting most musicians to shame. Hands dropped to her sides, tension leaving her. Anger and sadness forgotten.

She shifted in the bushes, catching a clearer glimpse of the singer, almost swooning at the sight. His silver hair fell over his shoulders, thick muscles - not as beefy as Robert's brawler body, but strong and toned like a nimble boxer or skilled horseman. His violet eyes sparkled with peace and emotion. A serenity with the world that many men lacked. Gods, he was the most handsome man Lyanna had ever seen.

_"And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave,_

_"Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave._

_"And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave,_

_"Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave."_

His voice was so beautiful, even Winter watched from behind the dense treeline, mesmerized by the melancholy melody that filled the forest. All around, not another sound could be heard but the thrumming of the harp and the man's song. Even the birds stopped their singing, listening to the mysterious man. Lyanna wished to cry at the sad serenity of the words drifting from his lips, but it was so beautiful that she couldn't do anything but watch in a dazed adoration.

Had anything ever made her so lost for words? So… entranced her?

_"High in the halls of the kings who are gone,_

_"Jenny would dance with her ghosts._

_"The ones she had lost and the ones she had found,_

_"And the ones who had loved her the most."_

Then, much to her disappointment, the melody ended and the stranger ceased his singing. The deep sigh of a troubled soul leaving his lips, weight of the world seeming to return to him once the escape of the instrument had finished. Lyanna felt her heart reach out to the man, the Lady of House Stark able to relate to him more than one could imagine. She wished to go to him, to hold him in her arms and help take his pain away. For him to take her pain away.

Lyanna shook her head, as if in a daze she needed to snap out of. What is wrong with me? For what had to be a quarter of an hour she had watched a mysterious man singing and almost fell in love with him from that alone. I don't even know who in seven hells he is! Didn't know what the morose, talented, handsome, beautiful, breathtaking man's name was.

Her mind and heart at war, Lyanna allowed herself one last look. One last glimpse between the leaves and brambles of the bush. The man had risen, grabbing his cloak - preparing to take his leave. Strapped to his waist was a glittering sword, a large ruby on the pommel and hilt adorned with intricately-carved dragon heads. A sword so iconic to be known from the Wall to Qarth. _Blackfyre…_

Blinking, Lyanna pulled back. Silver hair… Blackfyre… _No, it couldn't be…_ Peering back through the leaves, her eyes bugged out of their sockets at the red three-headed dragon emblazoned on the back of the cloak.

There was now no doubt in her mind. _The Crown Prince…_ Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.

The image of her dream Prince Daemon in the flesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Lyanna. It's love at first sight (she's seventeen years old; it just so happens that the one she immediately falls for is the right man for her, lol; Lyanna's gonna learn and mature rather quickly).
> 
> Jaime has a knack for forbidden love, lol! It was something unique and subversive for me and I hope y'all don't mind.
> 
> As for Robert, the depiction of a good-natured Gaston is probably the best way to describe him. He doesn't just act that way, he thinks that it's both his due and the way others want to be treated. Right now he may be hotheaded but he has no hate or bitterness. Remember, he is Rhaegar's cousin. There's no reason for any family disunity.
> 
> There are rumors that Rhaegar was the one who wrote Jenny of Oldstones, so I went with it. Also went for a Katniss/Peeta vibe from the Hunger Games.
> 
> Next up, the feast!


	5. An Indecent Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all. Some big stuff in this chapter :D
> 
> Very good news! I have become the lead co-author for the story Last Hope of Westeros. The original author and co-author were unable to continue on it, so instead of letting it be abandoned they passed the torch to me. Another outlet for my talents, so come on down and check it out!
> 
> I PASSED THE TEXAS STATE BAR EXAM! I am officially a lawyer in the State of Texas!
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

Winter trotting out of the woods, Lyanna was in a daze. Mind clouded with thoughts of the man she had seen in the clearing, only coherent thought through the verses of the song replaying in her mind being that of getting out of the woods ahead of him. _Not any man… Rhaegar Targaryen_. The Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms.

_Prince Daemon… my Prince Daemon._

Everything spun as Lyanna rode into the tourney grounds, head throbbing and her body shuddering from what she had witnessed. _Is it possible to fall in love with someone just hearing him sing?_ Lyanna shook her head. No, it was impossible. She had been so angry, so terrified at the prospect of marrying that oaf Robert Baratheon, she would be entranced by any decent-looking man. Especially if he was tall, handsome, serene... beautiful… breathtaking...

_Gods, Lyanna, you have it bad._

She hadn't even met him, and yet the daughter of Winterfell couldn't get the Crown Prince out of her mind.

"...looks barely bigger than an Imp!" Lyanna stopped in her tracks, hearing a grunt of pain.

"Cunt's sure weak enough to be one of 'em!" Shouts and yelling were common on the tourney grounds, enough to cause most to tune every loud noise out. But these voices were so… hostile, it caught the she-wolf's attention. Dismounting Winter with a trained ease, she quickly tied her to a post and crept around a storage tent. Peeking across the corner to where the sounds were coming from.

Three burly young men, each at least five ten but no older than Lyanna herself, were surrounding a smaller figure that had been knocked to the ground - small of stature but with a rather nimble strength about him. He tried to scramble for a three-pronged spear laying in the dirt, but a kick to his face sent him sprawling back. Lizard-lion sigil on his leather gambeson visible to her. _House Reed._ "Stay down, motherfucker!"

"I am the Lord of Greywater Watch…!" the small-statured man yelled only to get another kick. This time in the gut.

Lyanna recognized him now. Howland Reed, one of her father's bannermen and the Lord of the crannogmen in the Neck. He had been a rather quiet one during the journey south, but Lyanna had thought well of him.

"'I am the lord of Greywater Watch…'" mocked one of the boys in a bad falsetto, clearly the leader of the gang. "I squire for Waldron Frey, and he's told me all about you mud people. Little better than wildlings." Another kick followed while Lyanna's blood boiled. Of course the Freys would employ dirtbags.

Laughs came from the other two boys. "Ser Boros says they like to toss dwarves at pins like with bowling." The squire leered at the moaning Howland. "Why don't we try the same with him?" His comrades seemed to agree with the idea.

At this, Lyanna couldn't take it anymore. She had always been one to stand against cruelty - several Wintertown boys with their teeth knocked in for groping the washerwomen could attest to that - and the honor of a Northern Lord at stake only served to further convince her. "Hey!" The three squires stilled, looking to her with a mild irritation at being interrupted. "Stop it!"

"Piss off, cunt!" the Frey squire hissed. They moved to kick Howland yet again.

Drawing her sword, the sound of steel scraping against the scabbard drew their full attention. "I said, stop it."

"Don't want to get yer' dress in a twist," laughed the third squire, pitchfork-emblazoned shield strung across his back. _House Haigh._

Lyanna narrowed her eyes, standing tall. "Does it make you feel like men to pummel someone smaller than you? Tired of getting black eyes and losing teeth from the boys your own size?"

The Frey squire sneered, leading his comrades to abandon Lord Howland in the dirt. "What part of piss off do you not understand, bitch?"

A deep laugh left Lyanna's lips. "Bitch and cunt. You must get a lot of attention from the women with that talk." She grinned, enjoying how she was riling them up. None of them recognized her. _Good._ That just made it all the more fun. "I take you keep your coin purses full when trying to fuck."

Only the Blount squire seemed to understand the insult, flushing red like a tomato. "You'll pay for that, cunt!" drawing his sword and charging. Blade high, chopping wildly, it didn't take much effort for Lyanna to knock it to the side and ram the pommel of hers into the squire's gut. A kick to the shin sending him to the ground.

Right behind came the pitchfork squire, but his comrade fallen caused him to hesitate… a perfect opening for Lyanna to smash her elbow into the boy's face. Blood spurting from a broken nose as he howled in pain. "Is that the best you can do?" she mocked, scoffing. "A girl of ten and seven knocking you on your ass?"

Unlike his friends, the Frey squire darted in, feet quick yet in a firm stance. Such were his only attributes, blows as sloppy as the others. Trained by the best fighters among the Winterfell guards, not to mention her own brothers, Lyanna parried the first strike - blade twirling in her wrist to knock it out of his hand. Sword clattering on the ground. He moved to grab it, only for Lyanna to punch him in the jaw.

Up came the first boy, arms wrapping around her. Breath hot on his ear as his hands moved to grope her breasts. "Yer' mine, whore," he hissed.

Seeing red, Lyanna let out all of her anger and rage on the little cunt. Elbow ramming into his gut, she spun around and kneed him in the stones. Grunting in pain, she uppercut right into his lower jaw, teeth fountianing into the dirt.

The Frey squire moved for his sword, but Lyanna mock lunged with hers. "I'll keep this blade, thank you." She lunged again. "Run!" The two boys grabbed their moaning comrade, dragging him out as they booked it out of there. Leaving a rather proud Lyanna to strut about the field.

Watching the whole thing with mouth agape, Howland Reed tried to stand only for the ache in his stomach to bring him down again. "Seven hells," he cursed through gritted teeth - pushing back up onto his knees. This time, a hand was offered to steady him. Bringing the crannogman face to face with the gorgeous face of his savior. "Thank you, Lady Stark."

She smiled warmly, high cheekbones, pure white teeth, and dimples making it one of the most beautiful smiles he had seen. "Pish, it was my privilege to take down those fuckers." His widening eyes at her language made her giggle. Most highborn girls never cursed, but she wasn't most girls. "And call me Lyanna, Lord Reed."

"Then call me Howland." He chuckled but it changed into a grimace. "Sorry, it hurts to laugh."

"Let's get you to a maester, and a cup of the finest ale. My treat." Draping Howland's arm around her shoulder, she helped him to her waiting horse.

All unbeknownst to the silver-haired Prince that had watched the entire thing from the treeline.

* * *

"You have to be japing me, my Prince?" The Sword of the Morning's lips were pressed together, as if struggling not to grin.

The Crown Prince's eyes narrowed, glaring at his Kingsguard and friend. "If I would jape to you, Arthur, would this be what I would use?"

Arthur Dayne thought for a moment, then nodded. "No, I suppose not." The two of them walked through the halls of the great castle, journeying towards his father's chambers. Except for a few servants that they dropped their voices to a whisper around, this wing of Harrenhal was empty. "I heard that the ladies of the North could be a wild bunch, but to take on three burly squires… and to be your bride, no less?"

"Quiet," Rhaegar hissed. "Do you want everyone and their mother to hear you?" The Prince had been the only child in the Red Keep during his youth - the last child of House Targaryen it was said, given the extinction of all other lines due to illness or war and his mother's frequent miscarriages. Aerys isolating him for so long, by the time Viserys was born Rhaegar was ten and seven and approaching marriageable age. Thus, it was only when the young Arthur Dayne arrived at the Red Keep to win the King's Tourney did Rhaegar have a close friend he could call his own. While he was on good terms with the entire Kingsguard, he and Arthur were thick as thieves. His most trusted council along with Rhaella and Elia. "I saw it with my own eyes and still can't believe it - she was good, Arthur. In need of some refinement but very, very good."

"I'd like to see her compete against some real opponents, but I'll take your word for it, my Prince." Arthur looked him over from underneath his helmet, as if searching for something. "Are you… pleased with your new bride?"

Closing his eyes, Rhaegar envisioned the raven-haired Lyanna Stark. Fluid movements with sword in hand. The way her dress clung to her willowy yet toned frame. Her raven hair shimmering in the sunlight. No woman, not even Elia - though she had come a close second - had ever enamored him so easily as the she-wolf of Winterfell… and he hadn't even said a single word to her. And yet in the hours since his quick glimpse, Rhaegar couldn't get his mind off of the woman that would be his second bride.

"She… intrigues me, Arthur."

Rhaegar could almost feel the Kingsguard frowning underneath his helmet. "I'm sure you could tell me more."

Arriving at the entrance to his father's chambers, Ser Gerold and Ser Barristan bowed at their Prince. "I'm sure I could, Arthur." Winking at his friend, Rhaegar entered through the door with a grin.

A grin that promptly fell as he found his father sitting alone in his chair, staring out at the God's Eye from the window. Completely on the other side of the mammoth chambers, his mother was reading a tale to his baby brother. "Rhae!" Silver curls bouncing atop his shoulders, Viserys ran over to him.

Wanting to laugh in joy but restraining himself - out of the three of them, he was the most likely to set his father off - Rhaegar instead picked up his brother. Growing body as light as a feather to him. "Good afternoon, my Prince," he smiled. "What have you been up to?"

"_Muna_ is reading about the Conquest." Viserys chirped excitedly, always did when learning about the history of their family. Rhaegar himself remembered sitting on his mother's lap, thinking with childlike wonder of the dragons and dragonriders of old. "I can't wait till the Field of fire!"

Rhaegar frowned for a moment. _Why, father, why?_ His mother always steered him towards the love stories and tales of great statesmanship until he was old enough to understand the perils of violence - Aerys was clearly imposing his own view of their history on his brother. "Alright, dear Prince," Rhaella cooed. "How about I take you for a pastry for being such a good boy?" Leaning in to kiss her eldest son on the cheek, afterwards she whispered in his ear. "He received a raven from Casterly Rock."

The warning was well noted, the Crown Prince waiting for his mother and brother to leave before approaching his father. Not willing to antagonize or irk, he bent the knee. "You summoned me, your Grace?"

While Aerys wished for full formalities to be observed to him, he didn't reciprocate. "Rhaegar, good." He turned his chair around, manic grin on his face. "Did you hear what that pompous kitty cat told me?"

"I have not, father."

"He says he's 'ill' and cannot make it to my tourney. Sending his cunt of a daughter instead, as his 'representative.'" Aerys snarled. "Fucking Tywin, sending a woman to represent himself to me as if he thinks women are worth anything. That insect knows exactly how to piss me off."

_Why does it have to be Cersei?_ It wasn't as if Rhaegar hated her, but the way she threw herself at him did put the Prince off. "I do not think Lord Tywin will react well when she tells him of your decision, your Grace."

Aerys whistled. "I should fucking hope so. The only thing I regret is not seeing the look on that fucker's face. Him and that Baratheon shit. Why father married Rhaelle to his dolt of a grandfather is beyond me." The King's eyes blazed with anger. "All Dunk's fault. If he only acted like a damn man and not some weak woman… 'Oh father, I love this common harlot. Release me from my birthright…'" It wasn't the first time Aerys mocked his dead older brother in that manner. "The gods did right that night in Summerhall. Dunk got what was coming to him and I got my heir." He smacked Rhaegar on the back.

Rhaegar wanted to vomit - but he had to play along. "I have no doubt, your Grace." He thought of what he could do to mitigate the damage. "Should I bring Lord Stark and his family to have lunch with your Grace and _muna_?"

"Don't worry about that. I'm planning on inviting them to the King's table at the feast tonight. Nothing but the best for the family of the new Princess." His smile was wide and largely jovial…

Rhaegar didn't believe it for a second. _Father, please don't do anything reckless._

He may as well have asked water not to be wet.

* * *

Fingers jerking and twisting, Lyanna had enough at the third time Dacey yanked at her hair. "Seven hells, it's my hair, not a bloody longship rope. Be gentle."

Suppressing the laughs that were leaving her lips, Dacey completely failed. "I can't help it, Lya. Just thinking of how those dumb fuckers must've felt realizing they got their asses handed to them by a beautiful maiden…" She dissolved into laughter again, though managing to finish off Lyanna's hair rather well. Sighing, Lyanna did have to admit that having a lady in waiting who could both spar with her and polish a perfect traditional northern double braid was a good thing. "I wish I had seen it! You go girl."

Lyanna couldn't help but chuckle as well. "I was just… ugh I needed to burn off some anger and those cunts were right there, beating up on poor Howland."

The she-bear only scoffed angrily. "You had every right to want to vent with your sword." Putting the finishing touches on her chestnut braids, Dacey fumed. "Robert fucking Baratheon. What gives him the fucking right to disrespect you like that. Scuffing your precious book and then hiring two… two whores? At least when Aegon the Conqueror laid two women he married them first."

Snorting, Lyanna thanked Dacey for her blunt attitude. No one else was privy to what had transpired between her and Robert, or what she had seen afterwards. "Father wants this alliance… he'd have forced Brandon to marry Catelyn Tully even if they weren't enamored with each other." At least that was according to her brother. She hadn't even met her yet. "And Ned and Robert are so close…"

"Your brother may be many wonderful things, Lya, but he's a northern fool. Too naive." She and Ned had hit it off at the Twins - there wasn't a romantic spark, but an easy friendship had been built. Nevertheless, Dacey spoke true. "I think he'll back you up if you decided to beg Lord Stark to cancel the betrothal."

Blinking back a tear, Lyanna stood. Looking herself over in the mirror, smoothing out any creases in the fancy northern dress and perfect braids. _I do look good. Perhaps I shall catch the Prince's eye…_ Gods, she couldn't get Rhaegar out of her head. The way his voice wafted out the love song, his hair shimmering in the light of the sun… She felt heat in her core at the thought of it. But just as she opened her mouth to tell Dacey about it the door knocked. "Come on, lazy!" It was Brandon, blunt as always. "Let's get a move on!"

"Fuck off!" Dacey shouted back. "But I do think we should go. His Grace is waiting." Lyanna only nodded.

It was said that upon the completion of the great hall of Harrenhal, Harren the Black proclaimed that he could dine all the lords of Westeros within. While Aegon the Conqueror ended the man rather easily, it looked to Lyanna that such a boast had been grounded. Taking her father's arm as her escort for the night, she could only gape at the immense stained glass windows, giant rib vaults, and the intricate starry night mosaic plastered atop the coffered ceiling. It may have bled the Riverlands dry till they chose Aegon over Harren, but it was certainly beautiful. Nothing like the drab simplicity of Winterfell - she did love her home, but a beauty it was not. Yet it seemed only Lyanna cared to marvel at it, though Ned did glance up once or twice as he served as Dacey's escort. Everyone around was too enamored with the plentiful food and flowing drink. While not the boisterous near-fights that northern feasts were, Lyanna could still feel the merriment.

It took mere minutes for her father to be locked into conversation with Lord Arryn and… Lord Tyrell if Lyanna could place the rather pompous man's colors correctly. Yet - out of place in her rather muted outfits compared to all the southern finery - she was glad that Ned, Brandon, and Dacey formed a solid phalanx with her against anything that may have come. Just a group of northerners stuck in the great hall with nearly all of Westeros' nobility, she wondered if anyone would end up approaching…

"Bran!" Even with the cacophony, Lyanna did nearly jump out of her skin as a striking redhead ran between the tables, leaping into Brandon's arms. "Gods, I'm overjoyed to see you again." The woman kissed him rather passionately before breaking away, waiting to be introduced.

Brandon, grinning like an idiot, motioned to the new arrival. "Everyone, this is Catelyn Tully. Dear Cat, this is my brother Ned, sister Lyanna, and her lady Dacey Mormont." Lyanna blinked, chiding herself for not putting it together. _You're too fixated on the Prince._ Smiling, she leaned in to hug her future goodsister.

The greetings passed like a blur, two others joining them - introduced as Catelyn's younger sister Lysa and the Tully ward Petyr Baelish. While Catelyn grew on her due to her apparent adoration of Brandon, the other two were… Lysa seemed jealous and slightly mad, while Baelish was a snake. Lyanna hated him from the moment his clammy hand touched hers, especially how he constantly undressed Catelyn with his eyes.

Brandon was oblivious to this, or if he noticed he didn't say anything - one advantage of his prime self-confidence. "Littlefinger!" Lyanna suppressed a snicker at Baelish's nickname. _A gold dragon for how that name came to be._ "I heard you nearly got your ass handed to you by Victarion Greyjoy."

Littlefinger flashed everyone a wide, toothy smile. "A large boor, I'm afraid the Lord of Pyke's brother is. Not as salty as Balon or crafty as Euron. But boors can be dealt with if one has a silver tongue." From how his smile shined on all the ladies, Lya wished that the Greyjoy brute had beaten him into a coma.

A finger tapping on her shoulder drew Lyanna out of her rather interesting discussion with Catelyn over the vacancy of the Master of Laws. Turning, she came face to face with the man she did not want to see. "My dear Lyanna." Robert smelled of alcohol already, but other than that was rather dashing in his doublet and silk trousers. "Ned, I don't think you'd put up a fuss if I danced with the Lady here?"

Ned shrugged, Brandon laughing beside him. "Go ahead, Robert. I'd be insulted if you didn't dance with her."

Waggling his eyebrows, the stag offered his hand. "Shall we?" Eyes flickering between a murderous gaze at Ned and a pleading look at Dacey, Lyanna realized she was not getting out of this. Plastering a fake smile on her face, she took the proffered hand - barely even yelping as she was whisked to the dance floor.

The tune was a rather serene one, though fast enough so that she wouldn't have to be too close to Robert. "You're a good dancer," Lyanna commented, praying this would end soon.

Robert scoffed. "Jon Arryn taught me and Ned. He loved it, but this shit is borin' to me. Give me swordplay any day." Lyanna fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Now, at our weddin', I won't mind dancin' with you." His speech was slurred, though he didn't miss a step.

"I should hope our wedding would be in the Winterfell Godswood." A dream of hers from the beginning, to marry before the Weirwood tree.

"That may be a problem, sweet Lyanna." Roberts' grin looked like he had passed gas. "Cause after this tourney I intend to take you to Storm's End as soon as possible." The She-Wolf bit her cheek to keep from screaming.

Thankfully - though Lyanna was probably the only one who thought so - the song was cut off by the trumpeting heralds. "Presenting!" boomed one of the royal servants. "His Grace, Aerys of House Targaryen, Second of his Name! King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men!

Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm!" All present bent the knee as the royal family strode in surrounded by their guards. Aerys in the front, followed by the Queen - behind were both Princes, rounding it out. Combined with the two young children in the Red Keep, the last of House Targaryen in all their glory.

"Well, looks like the dance is over, my sweet Lyanna." Robert seemed put out, while Lyanna hid how relieved she was while they went back to their tables. "Until next time, dear intended." She wanted to spit in his drunken face.

As the King took his seat at the center of the table, Lyanna's eyes were drawn not to him but to the man two spots to the left - seated right next to Queen Rhaella. _My Prince Daemon…_ If anything, Rhaegar Targaryen looked even more handsome that night. Doublet of fine silk showing off his taut frame, long mane of silver hair pulled up into a bun. Lyanna wanted to pull it out of that bun and run her fingers through it… She looked away, blushing red. Gods, Lya, what's wrong with you? Gushing like a lovestruck girl barely after her first moonblood over the handsome knights in the Winterfell courtyard.

Little did she notice the Crown Prince's violet orbs finding her among the other revalers. Nor did she hear the King rise from his seat and speak until halfway through his announcement. "...to truly welcome our Northern guests for leaving their ice gar…" Lyanna watched as both the Prince and the Queen cleared their throats. A flash of something appeared in Aerys' piercing gaze, but he seemed to relax a split second later. "Homeland to celebrate my beloved heir's nameday, I invite them to dine at the royal table next to myself."

Blinking, slightly shocked at the honor, Lyanna rose with the other surprised and stunned faces of her brothers and father - though he hid it well. Walking towards the King's table, her gaze drifted from the smug leer of the King to the stare of the Prince. Their eyes meeting at long last, though both looked away after a mere moment. Lyanna resolved to take the place farthest from Prince Rhaegar at the table.

* * *

Lord and Lady Whent had spared no expense for the courses in front of them. Whole roasted boar, honey-glazed pork belly, chicken and quail braised with herbs, pigeon pie, lamb stew with imported rice from Essos, thick grain soup, oven-fresh breads, platters of ripe fruit, and countless pastries. Everyone happily stuffed their faces, drowning down the scrumptious delicacies with gallons of wine and ale, as well as a new drink from the Vale known as 'whiskey.' Lord Baratheon had already guzzled down plenty of it, though it didn't slow him down. Servants constantly brought in more and more, replenishing the dishes of the various lords, knights, and ladies nestled within the great hall.

As always, the royal table secured the highest amount of attention from the servants - even in spite of Lord Whent being forced to sit elsewhere to accommodate the Starks. The plates of each man and woman seated there were always full as a result. Though for Rhaegar, nothing had been topped off or refilled. Brooding frown planted on his face, he merely picked at the chicken leg and helping of stew in front of him, the only fully-eaten morsel being the apple core resting off to the side.

A fleck of pork landed on his hand, currently resting unused on the table. Rhaegar glanced to his left, finding young Viserys attacking his food with gusto. "Sweetling," he chided good naturedly. "Slow yourself."

"But this is how a dragon eats," chirped the boy, grabbing a thick slab of pork belly and scarfing it down. Mumbling something unintelligible.

Laughing at how adorable his little brother was, Rhaegar simply tousled Viserys' silver locks - earning a groan from the young Prince. "That may be, but flying dragons aren't Princes of House Targaryen. Use your knife and fork and don't eat more than you can chew.

Once he swallowed his morsel, Viserys gulped and nodded. "Sorry." That earned another tousle of the hair. Even being watched by the collected Lords and Ladies of the realm, there was still a few moments where they could be a family. Given what his father was going to do at the tourney, Rhaegar cherished these few and far between moments.

To his right, Rhaella was peering at the both of them with a knowing smirk. "You could use some of Viserys' eating habits, my son."

_"Muna…"_

"Don't _'muna'_ me, young man," she whispered, kind but firm. "No matter how old you are, I am your mother. And I will not let you go hungry, now eat."

Groaning quietly, hoping none of the vultures before him saw their Crown Prince chided by his own mother, Rhaegar nonetheless took the chicken leg and started working his way through it. Even though it tasted divine, once swallowed it felt like the acid was about to eat his way through his stomach. "Father seems happy, for once." Sure enough, Aerys was slowly eating his plate, serene smile on his face the whole time. For a recluse who had less of an appetite than Rhaegar did at the moment, it was… odd.

Suspicious.

Rhaella's voice dropped into an even lighter whisper. "He's imagining how the news will upset the apple cart. Especially with the Baratheons."

Rhaegar wanted to bang his head on the table. _They're not my favorite either, but…_ If the King wanted to go around Tywin, why do it in a way that would give him a natural ally in Lord Robert. The oaf was already on his fifth cup of whiskey, unable to hide his open and wanton gaze upon the occupant of the far-righthand seat at the table.

The Starks were enjoying themselves. Lord Rickard lost in conversation with Arthur and Barristan, while Brandon and Eddard spoke with a beautiful redhead leaning over the table, giving the Stark heir googly eyes - Catelyn Tully. And then there was Lyanna.

Never had he seen someone so beautiful. Wild chestnut locks, lithe body, fair face… and a fiery strength to back it up. Only Elia could compare, but the both of them were so very different that such a comparison was unfair. Looking away before the alone, quiet woman could see him, the Crown Prince took a sip of wine to contain his nerves.

_Am I truly falling for her?_ Rhaegar shook his head, clearing out his mind. _Don't be a dolt, you can't afford to be sentimental._ Yet one look at Lyanna Stark made such resolve crumble into dust.

But when the King stood, all fell silent. Revelry of even the drunkest ceasing in an instant. "Lords and Ladies," Aerys began, voice even and the epitome of polite grace covering his expression. He looked like the great Targaryen King he had been early in his reign. "I thank you for arriving to celebrate my heir's nameday. My son, Rhaegar Targaryen." Aerys glanced at Rhaegar, and the Prince felt at that moment as if his father truly loved him - inwardly, there was a deep suspicion, but he forced a genial smile on his face. "A toast to him, the Young Dragon reborn."

"Here here!" cheered the crowd. Rhaegar could hear Robert's booming voice above the others, but also the feminine lilt of the Lady Lyanna. Though he hadn't ever heard her speak, somehow he knew it was hers.

Aerys continued, the munificent expression still exposed to all. "Special thanks not only to Lord and Lady Whent for their delightful hospitality, but also to the honorable Lord Stark and his charming family." Rickard nodded politely to the clapping of the crowd, Brandon eating it up, while Eddard and Lyanna seemed to wish to melt into the walls. Rhaegar didn't know about Eddard, but he felt that the she-wolf wasn't normally like this… _wait… is it me?_ He shook his head - _no, of course not._ "While I am grateful that Lord Tyrell, Lord Arryn, Lord Tully, and Lord Baratheon have arrived to represent their kingdoms tonight, for the Warden of the North to break their normal isolation… it is an honor for House Targaryen." It was subtle, but those who knew the King noticed the slight glint in his violet eyes. "I'm reminded of the last time House Stark truly ventured south into the game of thrones. It was during the Dance of Dragons."

Rhaegar fought to keep his jaw from dropping. _Now?! He's doing it now?!_ One glance at his mother found her just as shocked and worried. _Father, please no…_

"You do remember, Lord Stark?" Aerys asked his guest, Rickard's confusion at the topic delighting him greatly. All that was missing was Lord Tywin and his cunt daughter to watch the auctioning off of the Lady Lyanna… or was it Rhaegar he was auctioning off? Either way, this was the most fun he had since mutilating and burning alive Lady Darklyn several years back. "What happened then?"

Furrowing his brow, unsure of where his King was going with this, Rickard nonetheless spoke up. "Well, your Grace, my ancestor the Lord Cregan Stark signed a pact of support for Queen Rhaenrya Targaryen, the rightful heir to Viserys I - the namesake of your young son, sire." Little Viserys beamed at the praise of such a high Lord, while Aerys scowled for a split second before the regal smile returned.

"Ah yes, House Stark shaking off its isolation to defend the realm against traitors and usurpers in favor of the rightful ruler." Rhaegar wanted to facepalm himself, and could tell Rhaella was suppressing a groan. Aerys hated both Rhaenyra and Aegon… hells, he hated everyone in the family not named Maegor. His duplicity for the sake of both amusement and to satiate his delusions only insulted the Prince's intelligence - and he was forced to nod in agreement nonetheless. "To do so, they agreed to the Pact of Ice and Fire, where House Stark and House Targaryen would be joined before the gods in marriage. Now, where the realm is under siege from traitors yet again, I can't help but think of this pact once more."

It took every bit of courage and fortitude inside him not to let his head smack upon the table with a groan. _Why… why… why must he do this here? Why?_ But he knew the answer. His mother knew the answer. Every single person that understood how Aerys Targaryen, Second of his Name, operated. He thrived on the mind games - on watching the dance of a person who found a wasp's nest suddenly dropped on them.

As Rhaegar guessed, the King did nothing to hide his amusement at this point. "It strikes me as odd that this Pact has never been consummated. House Targaryen doesn't take pacts made by sworn oaths lightly, for that's the realm of other illustrious houses." A glance to his right found the Starks just staring at him. Completely clueless._ Oh boy, this will be fun._ "Therefore, I intend to rectify this injustice by personally announcing the betrothal of my son and heir, Prince Rhaegar, to the Lady Lyanna of House Stark. If it was good enough for Aegon the Conqueror to have two brides, then why not my own seed?" And only to look back and watch the reactions.

One could hear a pin drop in the great hall of Harrenhal. No one moved, no one breathed, not even a fly adding its irritating buzz to break the quiet. Biting his tongue, Rhaegar braved the line of fire to glance to his right. His mother was silent, sitting straight and trying to rise above it all. Lord Stark was totally stunned, mouth gaping at the announcement. His son Brandon seemed to try and choke down the gulp of wine he had taken, while his second son Ned was white as a sheet. Not daring to meet eyes with Lyanna - his betrothed by royal decree - again, Rhaegar found Robert in the crowd, his face purple with rage. _Oh beautiful…_

"A toast to Rhaegar and Lyanna," the King announced, not bothering to hide the dark smirk on his face. He lifted his goblet, forcing all the lords and ladies present to do so as well.

No one noticed Lyanna in the corner of the table. Look of shock slowly transforming into the smallest of smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aerys you magnificent bastard! XD
> 
> And so the Knight of the Laughing Tree is born. That was fun to write. Rhaegar is smitten, but he won't have the same moment Lyanna did when seeing him sing for a little bit.
> 
> Remember Aerys' hatred of his older brother (Jaehaerys II doesn't exist here; Aerys and Rhaella are Aegon V's children). It's gonna be big.
> 
> Hope I introduced Catelyn and Littlefinger well. It's fun writing their young selves.
> 
> Next up, the reactions. Enjoy :D


	6. Betrothed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger. This chapter should clear up things :)
> 
> I have just begun posting new chapters to the story Last Hope of Westeros. Be sure to check it out :D
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

"This is an outrage!" Brandon Stark was a man of quite open emotion, but never had he been so enraged in his life. Ned thought that if his face was any redder, steam would be coming out of his ears. "I don't fucking care if he's the King! No sister of mine will be ripped away from us and made some damn Dragonspawn's pillow slave!"

"Please, brother," Ned stated. Palms pressing on the taller Stark's chest. "Calm down."

"Calm down?! CALM DOWN?!" If Brandon could be called enraged, he didn't know what words in seven hells he could use to describe what Robert was.

They were in the Stark tent, himself, his father, Brandon, and Robert discussing the matter - in the corner sat Lyanna, lost in her own thoughts and staring into the distance. Dacey had wanted to help her to her bed, but Rickard had dismissed her for the night. Ned worried over her, especially since no one had asked her opinion in all of this. "Yes, Robert, calm down. There is no sense in panicking."

"She is your sister! Your sister and MY BRIDE!" The second of the Stark sons didn't overlook how Lyanna flinched at Robert's last words, soulful gaze flashing an icy anger for but a moment. He would inquire later, the Stag Lord's ranting taking center stage. "...some mad, scheming dragonspawn King whoring my bride out to his rapist son…"

"Enough," Rickard said firmly, himself seated at his camp desk. He was just as pensive as Lyanna, though not disengaged. Ned could tell he was pulling back. Trying to see the situation from the outside, his father not falling into the rage trap Brandon and Robert were. Though he was angry… even seething. "We are going to stop yelling. Varys the Spider has spies everywhere." Such was the first thing Jon Arryn had warned Ned about, and he passed it on to his father. A whole two dozen Stark Household Guards stood outside the tent, fully armed just in case.

While both Brandon and Robert stopped yelling, it was clear their anger hadn't dimmed. "Call the banners, father," Bran demanded, slamming his fist down on the table. "I'll be damned if my sister will be sold like a whore."

"You'll have the Stormlands behind you, Lord Stark," Robert boasted, chest puffing out. "I don't care if they are my cousins. This means war."

"I'll marry Catelyn tomorrow, bind the Riverlands on our side. I'm sure the Vale and Tywin Lannister would…"

Rickard slammed his fist on the table in counter to Brandon. Losing his patience. "No one is calling any banners." Ned let out a relieved breath. He'd always taken after his father's cooler head. "I am not going to war with the crown without more information. I thought better of you, my son."

Brandon bristled. "But father…" He was cut off by Ned jabbing him in the ribs, gesturing inconspicuously to Lyanna. His brother gulped down whatever retort he had and nodded.

Standing, the Lord of Winterfell glanced at the Lord of Storm's End. "My Lord, we can discuss this further with Lord Arryn and Lord Tully. Perhaps a united front between our four kingdoms can dissuade or influence the King."

In spite of being on an equal footing with Rickard, the fact that the northerner was twice his age put Robert on the disadvantage. He sounded much like Jon Arryn or his own father scolding him after doing something stupid. With a sigh, he relented. "Alright, Lord Stark." Robert then turned to Ned. "I'll stop this, Ned. I'll stop this auction if it's the last thing I do. _My bride_ will not be treated this way, even by the King." Each word working him up further, the purple tint to his face made it back to prominence as he left the tent.

"Watch your sister," Rickard warned to his sons, following the Stormlands lord.

All left in the tent were Brandon, Ned, and their sister. Still sitting quietly, looking nothing like the proud, headstrong girl that had so terrorized and at the same time breathed joy into Winterfell at the same time. _Oh Lya…_ The announcement by King Aerys concerned her the most - it was only natural she was floored. Ned was by her side in an instant. "Lya? Sister, are you alright?" He sat next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder comfortingly. "Do you need anything?"

Blinking, Lyanna came out of her haze. All she had really heard of their conversation was Robert's possessive pronouncements, ones that repulsed and scared her at the same time. Robert Baratheon the cad was one thing, but the infuriated Lord of Storm's End bringing the fury was another matter entirely. Who knew what he was capable of? "Ned… oh no, Ned. I'm fine. Just… processing everything." It was true. Even in her wildest dreams did she not imagine the King of the Seven Kingdoms himself would decree this of anyone… let alone her.

"How can you be fine, sister?" Brandon clenched his fists. "This is an injustice of the highest order! I won't let Rhaegar turn you into his pillow slave while Elia fucking Martell gets to be Queen."

_Rhaegar…_ Everytime she had worried, everytime she had thought of Robert or heard Robert, Lyanna had thought of the Prince. "Brandon, it's alright." Rhaegar's silver hair, his violet eyes, his voice… _Gods, that voice…_ Almost divine in her mind. Just the thought of him calmed her down. "The Prince wouldn't do that to me."

Ned noticed something in her tone. It wasn't wishful thinking. "What do you mean…"

But nothing was calming Brandon down, his ranting cutting them off and working him back into a frenzy. "Just like that fucking whoremonger Aegon the Unworthy! He'll make you breed his bastards and laugh while doing it. I should kill the cunt right now!"

"Don't be rash," Ned cautioned, rising to hold onto his brother. "I'm not letting you die for treason!"

"And I'm not letting Lyanna be raped by that dragonspawn!"

Lyanna was frantic. "Bran…" Here she was faced with a potential dream, and Brandon's impulsiveness was rapidly turning it into a nightmare. "Please, don't get yourself killed for me. I couldn't bear it."

He knelt beside her, taking both of her hands in his. "Don't worry Lya. I don't care what father says - I'll call the banners and join with Robert. We won't allow that madman of a king forsake your honor and steal you from your rightful husband!"

"You will not do anything of the sort, Bran!" The mere mention of Robert as a husband drew her ire. "I…"

"What?! We can't let..."_ Gods, let me talk!_

Ned held up a hand, stilling his brother. "Lya... why don't you want us to?"

She looked closely at both of them. "I want to marry the Crown Prince!" Lyanna blurted out. Immediately blushing at how blunt she was.

Both Ned and Brandon looked at their sister like she just grew three heads. Mouths gaping open like fish. Neither had expected anything of the sort. "WHAT?!" Brandon roared, more from shock than anything resembling anger. All rage had drained away from him.

Biting her lip, Lyanna nodded. "Tell father to accept the King's decree…"_ I want my Daemon..._ "That's what I want."

Taking his seat beside Lyanna once more, Ned motioned for his brother to pull up a chair across from them. Sighing, Brandon poured himself a goblet of wine and complied. Sipping from the liquid. "Lya, offers of marriage are not to be considered lightly. The King may have ordered it, but I don't want you to feel compelled to accept something simply because he said it. You have the whole of the North behind you, sister."

The thought of King Aerys bringing fire and blood to her homeland did weigh on Lyanna's mind but it wasn't important. There was no way she would refuse this. "I would accept the betrothal even if it was completely voluntary on my part." Even she was surprised at how even her voice was, given the tumult of the last day.

"Lya, have you gone mad?" While Ned was simply shocked, Brandon was incredulous. "I don't think you understand the implications of this. The Crown Prince is already married to Princess Elia Martell. King Aerys implied he would want to duplicate Aegon the Conqueror and marry you to his son without an annulment." He downed his wine, needing alcohol to fortify him. "Forget about the complete shitstorm with the Faith and the Dornish, you'll be a second wife. Having to share your husband with another woman… a woman he already has had children with."

Such facts struck Lyanna harshly. In all truth, she had forgotten the fact that Rhaegar was married. Wed to a woman who was said to be one of the great beauties of the Seven Kingdoms. _You could end up being second best to him._ Second fiddle. Visenya Targaryen came to mind, married out of duty rather than love. Forced to grow old and bitter.

"Could you really share a husband, Lya?" Ned asked. His tone was softer than Brandon's, but no less tough and searching.

The image of Rhaegar in the woods, his voice serenading the very gods themselves, came back to mind. Part of Lyanna thought she had fallen in love with him in that very moment. "I wouldn't care if he had six brides like Maegor the Cruel. I still want to marry him." Never having met Rhaegar, somehow Lyanna just knew. Instinct perhaps, or something deeper - a spiritual intuition that told her to charge forth with her heart.

Brandon's eyes bugged out of his skull. "Why in the seven hells would you prefer being a second wife instead of having a normal marriage? Of being the Lady of Storm's End for gods' sake?!"

There it was. The betrothal to Robert - Lyanna had found her way out and she was taking it. Only a sadistic monster would be a worse husband than Lord Baratheon, and that same intuition told her Rhaegar wasn't that at all. "I know I'll be happy with the Prince," she finally said.

Ned raised an eyebrow. "How are you so sure about that, sister?"

"As sure as I know I would never be happy with Robert," she spat back. The feeling of his lips on hers, his uncaring hands only caring for his own pleasure as he groped and prepared to take her, it made Lyanna feel dirty.

"It's just because of the bastard, Lya?" Brandon was in disbelief. "Many highborns have bastards. It's nothing to throw your life away over…"

"More about how he essentially forced himself on me," Lyanna finally ground out. "And then the whores he bought from Chataya's right after when I wouldn't lay with him." Gods, it felt cathartic to finally get that out to someone other than Dacey.

There was silence - complete silence. Her brothers both utterly flabbergasted, jaws dropped nearly on the floor. "W… what?" Ned asked. More like murmured.

She shuddered just thinking about it. "When we met, he talked like I was his already. Then he kissed me. Pushing me onto his cot and groping me all over like I was one of his whores."

"When. Was. This?" Her older brother's anger was bubbling back to the surface.

Honestly, Lyanna felt better now that it was directed at someone that deserved it. "When he came to meet me for the first time. I pushed him away though. I wasn't dishonored." Even she had to be fair to him.

That wasn't going to calm Brandon down. "Oh, I'm gonna take Ice and castrate the son of a bitch myself!" His voice was deathly serious. "No one forces himself on my sister and has a cock to show for it!"

While she was glad his support of Robert had evaporated, Lyanna couldn't have him declare war on the Stormlands. She rose, moving to cup his cheek. "It was just a kiss. He stopped when I told him to - it was more that…" How could she put what truly disgusted her into words? "He just… seemed to expect me to let him take my maidenhead right then and there. Like I was his property." That did not seem to help. "Bran… calm down. Please?"

Nodding, clamping his lips shut, Brandon's rage didn't dampen. The same anger he had borne towards the Targaryens now directed at Robert Baratheon. Fists clenched so hard that his knuckles turned white, teeth grinding almost into fine powder. Breathing in and out to calm himself. Lyanna taking her seat back. "Alright. I'm steady. I'm calm." He grabbed his cloak off one of the chests throwing it over his shoulders. "As heir to Winterfell, I will make it my duty to end all discussion of any betrothal to Lord Robert Baratheon. I do not care if he's your friend, Ned, but it's over. Over my dead body will I allow it." Glaring at Ned for a moment, he leaned down and kissed Lyanna on the forehead. "I have your back, Lya."

Letting out a breath she had been holding in since Winterfell, Lyanna felt a weight being lifted off her chest. "Thank you." She hugged him tightly. "Love you, Bran."

"Love you too, Lya." With that, Brandon stormed out, leaving her and Ned alone.

The second son was withdrawn into himself, brooding hard. Lyanna knew he was killing himself inside. "Ned… brother?" She leaned forward, now her turn to comfort him. "Talk to me."

"Did Robert really do that to you?" It wasn't rape, Lyanna wasn't alleging that, but even what she did claim was dishonor in and of itself. _You never claim a woman like that unless you know she consents._ "I need to know."

Lyanna hung her head, hating that she was hurting her brother so. "Yes." Her blood boiled hotter, especially because it caused Ned pain. "After he forced that kiss on me, I followed him to a brothel. Do you know what he shouted for all those whores to hear?"

Already he felt like an idiot. "I hesitate to ask."

Lyanna's cheeks flared red with anger. "He said 'This beast may soon be shackled but it wont forget this heaven of booze and women anytime soon!'" Ire only falling at how it affected Ned.

Ned's brooding only darkened. "I am such a fool." Without warning, he smacked his palm against the side of his head. Hard. "I'm such a fucking fool."

Saying nothing at first, Lyanna merely hugged her brother. "It is not your fault, Ned. Had you known…" Her brother was loyal to a fault, his honor compelling him to stand behind both a friend and a sibling. From the bottom of her heart she knew that he only suggested the marriage because he thought it would be the best for her. "You would never have made the suggestion if you knew what Robert really was like."

"He's not a…" Shaking his head, Ned stopped defending his friend. "I should have known. There were rumors going around the Eyrie, and he always kept company with various reprobates, but I just accepted his denials and explanations at face value." He looked up at his sister, tears in his eyes. "I thought you could tame his wild ways, but this… I'm sorry, Lya."

"I forgive you, Ned," she replied with a sincere, if soft, smile. "Bran will make sure father breaks the negotiations. Nothing was officially made. What's done is done." It was surreal, talking about what a few hours ago had been unbearable chains as if it were nothing. Ethereal strands of thread that could be snapped by a mere jerk of a finger.

Nodding, Ned brooded silently for a moment before something came to his mind. Looking up, peering at Lyanna quizzically. "The Crown Prince?" With the firestorm of what Robert had done to her, Bran and he had completely forgotten.

This time, Lyanna blushed. "Aye, the Crown Prince." Her lips curved up into a smile, growing wider and more radiant as she thought of the beautiful silver dragon. Ned was taken aback… he had never seen the She-Wolf of Winterfell act like such a lovestruck maiden. "The prince is everything Robert could never be. Compassionate, loyal, gentlemanly, gentle, and more."

"Has he met you? How would you know?"

"I just do… instinct." Seeing Ned raise a single eyebrow, Lyanna knew she couldn't pay him off with that. "I rode Winter into the forest earlier today. There I saw the Prince singing."

"Singing?" Ned sees how Lya just looks off into the distance. Face dreamy and with that adoring smile growing wider.

She nodded vociferously. "Dear gods, it was incredible, the way his long pale fingers caressed the strings of his harp... His voice was so sad and beautiful as he sang, Ned. Even the birds stopped to hear him."

Never in his life did Ned ever think he'd be in this situation. To see Lyanna this way. It was concerning… but also something he had hoped for so long for her - happiness. Love and joy. "You're really falling for him," he said quietly.

"I am, brother, and I hope… I pray he feels the same."

"He'd be a fool not to." There was still so much to discuss. So much that bothered him about this. "I'm still not comfortable with him still being married. Targaryens did it before, but only all the respect in the world is good enough for my little sister." He didn't care that the King demanded it - Lyanna deserved the best. "I'll have a talk with him... I think it will require a level head that Brandon just doesn't have."

"Brandon has a level head, it's just between his legs."

The two of them blinked at each other before bursting out into laughter. Letting their stress and nerves go at the jape. "Oh gods, that was a good one," Ned choked out, trying to compose himself. "If you truly wish to marry the Prince after everything is sorted out, then I'll support you."

Lyanna beamed. "Thank you, Ned."

He returned the smile. "Prince Rhaegar is a lucky man - getting you for a wife."

For the second time that night, Lyanna allowed herself a dreamy smile. Allowed herself to be a starstruck maiden of ten and seven. "I'm lucky as well, Ned... I'm likely getting my Prince Daemon." She giggled. Actually giggled.

"Oh seven hells," Ned groaned, rolling his eyes rather outlandishly. "Not that damn book again."

Frowning, Lyanna grabbed a pillow from her loveseat and smacked him with it. "Shut it." Holding his hands up in mock surrender, Ned smiled and pulled his sister into a brotherly hug. One she quickly returned._ I really am a fool._ Every part of him had been so sure Robert would change his ways for Lya, but the truth was he didn't even know what Robert really was._ I can only hope that the Crown Prince is anything like the one in her book_. For all her strength, the she-wolf of Winterfell likely couldn't survive another failed match.

Especially this one.

* * *

Had the servants not known what was good for them, they would have stared in complete shock. The King was in a good mood. A very good mood. One not induced by sadistic power plays, humiliating poor courtiers, or abusing his wife the Queen. No, this was… completely genuine. Laughter falling from his lips and joy lighting up his eyes for the first time since Duskendale.

"Oh, that was delightful, so delightful," Aerys gushed as he removed his crown - placing it atop a plush purple cushion. "Tee hee, the looks on all those cunts. It was like I had hatched a dragon from my own ass." The giggles that streamed from him were so unlike Aerys, but came all the same.

As wary as all others in the room - more so, even - Rhaegar stayed several paces behind his father. Not wanting to get too close, the King's paranoia likely to act up if someone crowded up to him while his back was turned. "Your Grace, I feel it unwise that you announced the betrothal without informing Lord Stark." After escorting his mother and brother to bed, this had been his first stop.

"Bah." The King waved him off. "That was the best part of the night. I think the Northern oaf's son was about to spit out his wine everywhere!" Humming, Aerys began to dance about to imaginary music. He had been quite the dancer in his youth, Rhaella telling her son about the countless balls he enjoyed showing her off in on the dance floor. The madness and paranoia seemed to kill that part of him, but here he was.

Rhaegar wasn't the only other person in the room. "Why make an alliance with the Starks, your Grace?" asked Hand Jon Connington, suppressed anger and pain evident on his face. Unlike the other loyalists who were concerned, Connington seemed to take it personally - Rhaegar had no idea why. "They offer you nothing."

The King stopped dancing. "They offer me everything!" Coughing, Aerys made his way to the decanter of wine. Easing his throat with the fine Arbor gold. "Tywin is plotting, you see, and this she-wolf brat holds the key to keeping him in check." Rhaegar suppressed the urge to ball his fists tightly at how his father spoke of Lyanna. It was similar to how he reacted to the constant japes about Elia… only more intense. What?

"She was about to be betrothed to Lord Robert Baratheon, my Liege Lord." Griffin's Roost was in the Stormlands, meaning Robert officially outranked Connington outside of the King's favor. "I was sitting with him. The anger was worse than Fourteen Flames. Perhaps it is wiser to allow the betrothal to go through…"

Feeling a sudden surge of jealousy and protectiveness course through him that surprised Rhaegar, the Prince was nevertheless saved by his father. "No, fuck him. Stupid father should have married my older sister to Dunk instead of Robert's drunken, whoring grandfather. Maybe then Dunk wouldn't have acted like a fucking idiot and cohabited with that whore. We'd have more Targaryens and wouldn't be facing the Doom." Only Rhaegar knew what he meant, the others blinking confusion.

Jowls flopping, Mace Tyrell stepped forward - once the happiest man in the Seven Kingdoms after his infant daughter was 'betrothed' to Viserys, now he had grown pale. "Your Grace, my wife is a Hightower…"

"I wouldn't brag about that, but go on, Lord Peacock." The King guffawed at his own jape.

If Mace chose to ignore the insult or was too much a dolt to understand it - Rhaegar bet on the latter - he didn't let on. "The Hightowers are quite pious, and have a long history with the Faith of the Seven. Based on my insight, they will not take kindly to this… polygamy. It's what caused the rebellion against King Maegor."

Rhaegar snorted, impressed at the foresight. _First thought of his that didn't come from his mother... probably parroting his wife._ Mace was a kindhearted fellow, but he lacked the brainpower for anything that insightful.

"The doctrine of exceptionalism that old king Jae established gives me the damn right, so the Faith can shove it up their arses. We are dragons, Rhaegar and I. We answer to neither gods nor men, let alone a bunch of funny little men in robes." Mace withdrew, chastised. "Now leave me be. Let me enjoy my evening." Rhaegar couldn't be told any further.

Shutting the door to an image of the King gliding about the solar, robes swaying and an old Valyrian ditty about a dragonrider in a Lysene brothel tumbling from his lips, Rhaegar sighed and half collapsed against the stone wall of the hallway. "At least one of us is happy," he mumbled. Granted, upon catching a glimpse of the fiery, gorgeous Lyanna Stark, he wasn't completely unhappy with his now betrothed. And yet would she want anything to do with me? The best case in his mind was Elia, an utterly gorgeous and perfect wife that he was denied happiness with.

"I don't like this, my Prince. It's you and that Martell girl all over again." Apparently Jon Connington thought amongst similar lines - if with different opinions. "Can't the King find someone you want to be with?"

Rhaegar frowned. "She is still my wife, Jon. I've said this before, treat her with respect." The Lord of Griffin's Roost was a close friend, his closest besides Arthur. Practically joined at the hip for the last years before maturity, when Lord Tywin had finally been dismissed Connington was Rhaegar's first choice for his father to name as the new Hand. Someone young, vigorous, and smart. He had proven a strong ally on the Small Council and a loyal administrator, but the Prince couldn't help feel a tension since he had married Elia. The tension only rising.

The Hand of the King looked… sad. Forlorn even. "She was never worthy of you Rhaegar." Connington stepped forward, face only inches apart from the prince's. Rhaegar smelling wine on his breath. A glassy look in his eyes before there was realization and he pulled back. Clearing his throat. "Neither is the Stark bi… girl. There is nothing that the north can offer House Targaryen. They abandoned the crown in the Blackfyre Rebellions and would only antagonize the Faith. Convince your father to change his mind."

Obvious retort forming on his lips, when Rhaegar tried to speak it simply died on his tongue. Refusing to come out, his mind refusing to let it be uttered. You've tried to change his mind, but he will never change it. The image of the beautiful she-wolf fighting the squires twice her weight burned in his mind. Something that told him more than stacks of tomes ever could. Could it be that you truly want this betrothal?

"I can't explain it, Jon, but it feels as if this is my destiny."

Lips forming into a grimace, Connington only nodded. "I'll pray this doesn't ruin you, Rhaegar. It would kill me if anything happened to you." Bowing, the Hand of the King made his exit. Leaving the Prince to face the gravity of his new fate alone.

* * *

_One moment she was asleep in an unfamiliar bed - in a castle of pure black and gray - and the next a warm sensation had roused her. Causing Lyanna's lids to open… only to flutter closed. Long moan leaving her mouth. "Ohhhh… my Prince…"_

_Kissing up her body was the silver-haired god from the forest. Rhaegar Targaryen, showering her skin with kisses. With open mouth sucks that left marks upon her body - ones she had often chided Brandon for getting from the servant girls. But far from being disgusted, she only moaned louder. Weaving her hands in silver locks and pulling him to her mouth. "Kiss me. Fuck me, my dragon."_

_He roared like a dragon would, attacking her lips. Lining his length at her entrance and pushing in. Sensations alien to her… "Ahhh… Don't… stop." Unfamiliar but so, so good. A feeling that Lyanna prayed never ended…_

The she-wolf bolted out of her cot, sucking in breaths of the chilled air. She was covered in a sheen of sweat, nightgown clinging to the curves of her body. "What in Seven Hells…" Lyanna murmured. A hand drifted to her chest. Calming her beating heart.

Stills of her dream flashed in her mind, causing Lyanna to flush an even darker red… as well as another part of her flushing rather hotly. Gods, I've got it bad. The last day had been a complete whirlwind, disgusted by the Lord of Storm's End only to find out she was betrothed by royal decree to the Crown Prince.

_"Fuck me, my dragon."_

Falling back onto the bed, Lyanna's hand involuntarily snuck under her nightgown. Finding her flower slick with her juices. Blazing hot, sensitive to the touch. She rarely did this. Rarely found the need to, but by the old gods and the new, even the thought of her Prince Daemon… My Prince Daemon? Yes, he was hers now. By decree of the King, the most beautiful man Lyanna had ever seen was hers.

"Fuck… fuck… fuck…" she murmured softly, biting her lip to keep anyone in the tent from hearing her. Fingers swiping hard against her own clit, wishing, imagining it was the Prince doing all the things she had heard Dacey or the young servant girls brag or giggle about. Things more akin to a wanton whore than a proper lady, but she didn't care. She wanted all of it, all with him… "Ahhhh…" Her cunt gushed, the most powerful climax of her life ripping through her. All without him even being close.

Lyanna remembered how intently those violet eyes stared at her. _Does he dream about me, lust after me like I do him? She felt a tingle at the thought he might…_

"Psst…" Yelping, Lyanna frantically smoothed down her nightgown under the furs as Dacey slipped through the flaps. "You asleep?"

Not wanting anyone to know of her… wantonness, Lyanna hid it behind a flash of indignancy. "I was. Until a rather loud she-bear of a lady in waiting woke me up," she huffed.

Dacey saw right through her. "Oh really?" A smirk crossed her face. "Has nothing to do with the love flush on your cheeks?" At that Lyanna reddened even further. "Thinking of your dragon prince the King is sooo kind to hand to you on a silver platter?"

"Is it that obvious?" she said quietly.

"We're all girls here. If I were in your position I'd try to sneak into his chambers and claim him, wife or no wife." She laughed at Lyanna's further embarrassment - it was so unlike her, the fiery she-wolf turned into both a lovestruck maiden and sex-starved harlot. Simply hilarious. But it was beside the point. "I'll leave it alone, get up," Dacey whispered, tossing her mistress a fur cloak to cover up.

Lyanna blinked. "What… why?"

"Waldron Frey paid Lord Reed a visit with some of his household guards." Grey eyes widened at that, Dacey nodding firmly. "He's waiting outside the tent. One of your guards is asleep so we can sneak out to him." Nowhere did she ask if Lyanna wished to. From the determined frown and icy gaze in her eyes, the she-wolf made her answer obvious.

As Dacey had said, one of the guards had fallen asleep, wine gourd collapsed on the ground beside him. Lyanna rolled her eyes, resolving to tell her father in the morning - with the King's announcement making her the future joint Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the lack of attention paid to House Stark was over. In the near term, it was easy to sneak past the snoring guard, quickly ducking around several tents to find the Lord of Greywater Watch. He stood in his leather armor, beaver skin coat wrapped around his barrel chest. "Howland?" At Lyanna's voice, he turned, causing her to gasp at his split lip, swollen cheek, bruised jaw, and two black eyes. "The Freys?"

Howland nods, wincing even at the slightest movement. "Apparently he was 'defending the honor of his squire.'" Gently, Lyanna reached up to caress the bruises - she was pretty tall for northern women, exactly Ned's height at a five foot ten. She towered over the far shorter Howland, lacking half a head on her. Her touch, far from stinging, comforted his wounds like ice. "He wanted to know the 'rancid, rug-munching cunt' that fought his squire off. I told him it was a camp follower from White Harbor and he seemed to believe it."

Anger coursed through her - in this she took exactly after her mother like Brandon did. "We are going to avenge you, Howland."

"How?" While the prospect of humiliating Waldron Frey did appeal to the wounded crannogman, having Lyanna do it worried him. "I heard of your betrothal. I'd rather not be the cause of any royal scandal that ropes in the King and Crown Prince."

"There are ways to work it around so that it doesn't track back to Lyanna," Dacey mused. "The Freys are idiots, so they won't put two and two together."

An idea suddenly clicked into Lyanna's head. One that she could almost imagine her father scolding her over and Brandon yelling that she was mad, but it refused to leave her mind. Resolve growing by each moment that passed. _They'll be on the watch for me… but not on the watch for Howland._ "Does Waldron Frey plan to enter any of the contests?"

Both fellow northerners peered at Lyanna quizzically. Her statement abrupt and out of nowhere. "He wants to enter the joust. Says he's a great horseman."

Dacey snorted. "Likely because he's too much of a reed to fight in the melee against Gerold Hightower or Jaime Lannister."

Howland couldn't help but smile softly. Wanting to laugh but in too much pain. "The Haigh bannerman will go with him, and I'm certain Boros the Bald will do it as well."

_All three in the joust… perfect._ A wide, wolfish grin stretched out over Lyanna's face. "Howland, you'll need to find me a set of cheap armor. Dacey, find me a plain palfrey."

Listening to her plan, even the she-bear was incredulous. "Really, Lya? You're basically a princess at this point and you're going to draw all that attention to yourself?" The King was known to be quite mercurial - it was quite possible that this would set him off.

"I haven't been introduced to the realm yet, so only an observant northerner would recognize me on sight." Neither was able to dissuade her. "If I am to be confined to the Red Keep, then let the she-wolf have one last blaze of glory." Oh, it would be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And just like that, Robert lost the Starks. Given that Brandon went screaming to King's Landing and demanding Rhaegar come out and die, his reaction her is legit.
> 
> With Aerys, all roads for him lead back to Duncan, the Prince of Dragonflies. I couldn't resist putting the thing about him being a dancer. He had to have a personality before the madness :D
> 
> Yep, the rumors are true of Connington. Will only complicate matters between him and Rhaegar later. We'll see more of him when they return to King's Landing (I plan to have in depth characterizations, just spaced out along the line of the story).
> 
> Lyanna is a dirty dirty girl, taking care of herself only minutes before planning the Knight of the Laughing tree.
> 
> Ned goes to confront Rhaegar, but meets someone interesting along the way ;)


	7. Repercussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kind support, everyone!
> 
> I know a lot of the story is moving fast and glosses over some political factors, but we're dealing with a week-long tourney first. The politics will rear their ugly head soon.
> 
> Comment moderation has been disabled.
> 
> Relationship tags have been updated
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

"My Lords, If we may…"

"Silence, Rhaegar," Aerys said curtly, waving him off. "I'll handle this." He leaned forward, hands on his chin - an almost gleeful smile planted on his face. It wasn't just the announcement that pleased him. Rhaegar could tell he was just itching to see which Lord or religious figure first talked themselves into an execution for treason. "Tell me, my Lords. Repeat it again, why is this betrothal such an issue?"

In front, swaddled in their flowing silks or simple armor were several lords of Dorne. Representing the interests of Prince Doran in his absence. Princess Elia was one of them and rather well-liked in her homeland, and a slight to her honor was a slight on all of Dorne. "If I may, your Grace," stated Ormond Yronwood, one of the most powerful Lords and leader of the assemblage. "It is a grievous insult to Dorne to set the Princess Elia aside for another bride."

If Aerys saw this as treason, he did not show it. "I don't see an insult. No one said that the Princess would be set aside."

"If you mean for the Prince to take two wives as King Maegor, such cheapened the reputation of each bride," Lord Oller piped up, a thin, reedy man. Rhaegar wished he could sink into the furniture. He personally saw nothing wrong with what Maegor did in the beginning, but the idea that either Elia or the beautiful she-wolf that haunted his dreams would be cheapened made the Prince disgusted with himself.

His father on the other hand had no shame. "Maegor gave each wife of his the honor of continuing to grace his bed, even after they failed him," hissed Aerys, causing Oller to flinch. Laughing, he turned to Yronwood. "If either Prince Martell has an issue, they can come and tell me personally. But they would be wrong because Elia belongs to me now." Rhaegar wanted to punch his father for his arrogance, but stayed silent. It would only make things worse. "She is a member of House Targaryen, and so will Lady Stark before too long."

"Bigamy is against the will of the Seven!" All eyes turned to the young Septon of Harrenhal. A young firebrand, rather handsome with a chiseled chin and brilliant blonde hair - Rhaegar thought the young maidens of his village cried when he devoted himself to the Faith - burned with devotion to the gods of the Andals. "The Prince will burn if he allows himself to take another bride!"

Rather than order Gerold or Arthur to behead the firebrand, Aerys erupted into laughter. "Rhaegar is a dragon. Dragon's don't burn you pompous fool!" More laughs, even Rhaegar and some of the Dornish joining in. The Faith wasn't popular in Targaryen circles. Aerys didn't care, while Rhaegar had his own spirituality he kept in the privacy of his chambers. Not wise to antagonize them, however. "The High Septon can kiss my ass if he thinks his child-buggering self can meddle in my affairs."

The Septon continued to stare down the King, the chances of someone losing their head only increasing. "Perhaps we should confer with the High Septon personally about this matter," Rhaegar interjected, calming down the simmering tensions. "Have you spoke with Prince Doran or Prince Oberyn, Lord Ormond?"

As Lord Yronwood continued to prattle on about propriety and the need to follow the will of the gods - not that it didn't stop him, given the prevalence of various knights in his keep named Sand - a servant snuck in through one of the side doors. Rhaegar noticed him out of the corner of his eye, one of his father's 'favorites.' As such he snuck past the kingsguards and approached the King, whispering something into his father's ear. The frown turned into a look of interest and then into a wide smile. "Good, oh most good," Aerys exclaimed, interrupting Yronwood. "Tell him to deliver them to my chambers and hold them under guard." The servant bowed and darted out.

Rhaegar leaned in to his father. "Is something the matter, your Grace?"

Aerys blinked and turned to his son, as if in the moment he had completely forgotten about everything. "Oh, my son…" The King glanced at the Lords. "Umm… take care of this. I have pressing matters to attend to." Standing, all in the room fell to one knee. Gesturing dismissively to them, Aerys made his way out with Ser Gerold and Ser Jonothor following.

The Crown Prince saw his chance to end this. "Lords of Dorne, I understand your concerns over the Princess Elia, but the succession rights of Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys will not change. I fully intend to continue my lifelong commitment to the Princess Elia."

"Such a marriage disrespects the gods!" proclaimed the septon. His ire was raised while the Dornish were… somewhat placated by his earnestness. "The Faith will not permit it!"

"The Faith permitted both the Pact of Ice and Fire - a pact both blessed by the Most Devout and the High Septon at the time - and the Doctrine of Exceptionalism," hissed Connington, proving his appointment as Hand did not cause a loss in skill from Tywin. "His Grace Prince Rhaegar is a Valyrian, the Last Dragon, and is therefore not under the domain of the laws of the Andals."

Bristling, the Septon pointed an accusatory finger at Rhaegar. "You have no dragons anymore. Be wary of what you seek… my Prince." With a huff, he left.

Milling about, uncomfortable at the turn of events, the Dornish Lords didn't hesitate to flee once Rhaegar dismissed him. The Prince wanting a stiff drink as he rubbed his temples. "I don't anticipate a problem with Dorne until my dear goodbrothers get involved."

"No, the Dornish have been… rather lax in their morals," Connington chuckled, eyes growing wistful - as if remembering something fond from his memories. "The Martells' ire will be personal, but the Faith is another matter entirely. I shall see to it that the septon has an accident."

Rhaegar shook his head. "That would just cause more headaches. Notify Varys and your contacts in Oldtown to bribe the High Septon. A man that doesn't want his predilection for boys under the age of ten would likely proclaim visions of leaving House Targaryen alone if the price is right." Connington nodded, slightly proud of his normally straight-laced friend for his cunning. "Anything else?"

A sigh from the Hand of the King. "Well, Rhaegar… your mother is currently meeting with Rickard Stark to negotiate the bride price for the Lady Lyanna." Connington's nose wrinkled in distaste.

Burying his face in his palm, running it down his face, Rhaegar felt his head pounding. "I'm going to get that drink now."

* * *

The council room was ornate. House Whent was a very wealthy house, it's Lord soaring no expense. Lushly decorated with the finest Myrish rugs, ironwood paneling, and crystal chandeliers, Rickard Stark could just imagine Harren the Black sitting in the finery, imagining himself the King of all he surveyed before Aegon the Conqueror burned him alive. Winterfell was never even close to approach something like this, and while his spartan northern sensibilities rebelled at the thought it didn't mean he couldn't appreciate it.

While he was one with rather southern tastes in his love of life, Brandon didn't have the same sense of appreciation. Instead, he was rather irritated. "Where are they?" His feet tapped anxiously on the carpet below, stomping upon the intricate flower designs. "I bet the Mad King is making us wait. Yank our chain."

Rickard glared at his heir. "Hush!" Brandon was impetuous and hotheaded, but such was unacceptable. "You must not speak like that here!"

Fortunately, Brandon was summarily chastised. "Forgive me, father. The last day has been… quite harried on my emotions. This betrothal out of nowhere, and Lord Baratheon…" His fists clenched in a suppressed fury. "I still wish I could strangle the cunt."

While the heir was a fire mountain, the Lord more approached a slowly creeping sheet of ice that ended up tearing apart whole boulders. "That was a… mistake on my part." Ned punished himself for the oversight, but Rickard knew it was he that bore the real blame for the misguided betrothal. "I should have been more tactful in the betrothal negotiations."

Shaking his head furiously, Brandon placed his hand on his father's. "Do not blame yourself, and Ned shouldn't blame himself either. This is no one's responsibility but that adulterous pig that forced himself on and then disrespected Lyanna." Such was the way many Lords were - Brandon couldn't excuse some of his behavior either - but Lyanna was his sister and someone precious. A beautiful winter rose. She deserved only the best. _Who better than a Targaryen Prince?_

"Ned spoke highly of him, but anyone who wouldn't wait for consent will never get my Lyanna," Rickard said firmly. "And that includes Prince Rhaegar." Suddenly the doors opened and in walked Ser Jaime Lannister, resplendent in his shining uniform and brilliant golden hair. The two Starks had just managed to stand when the breathtaking form of Queen Rhaella Targaryen entered, dressed in a form-fitting red gown and wearing her silver hair in a loose bun. "My Queen," Rickard bowed.

The Queen smiled, gesturing for them to take their seats. "Forgive my husband and son, my Lords. They were both tied up by urgent business and requested me to speak with you in their steads." Actually, Aerys had ordered her to do it while Rhaegar was very likely kept in the dark, but Rhaella wasn't about to inform them of such. _Probably told me the wrong time in order to make them wait._ Aerys loved his mind games.

"It is insulting that Prince Rhaegar doesn't have the balls to face us…"

Rickard elbowed Brandon under the table. "Apologies for my son. He is a man of strong opinions." He smiled apologetically at the Queen.

It was returned. "I fully understand. My family is the same way, and the news of last night undoubtedly were trying for your House." Rickard couldn't help but think well of Rhaella - she was a breath of fresh air that enamored everyone in the room. Even Brandon, as it seemed. "I feel that a bride and a groom should not be involved in betrothal negotiations. It tends to… complicate the development of affection."

Blinking, the Warden of the North could only nod. "You speak with the wisdom of someone double your age, your Grace. My son and I can only hope that my daughter and Prince Rhaegar can make such a connection." _One she failed to have with Robert Baratheon._ "But, we are not smallfolk that may run away for love. With our power and birth comes a great responsibility, and I hope your Grace isn't offended that I cannot obey the King's decree without concessions." A silent prayer to the old gods that it was Rhaella he now bartered with. Brandon might not see it, but she was far more amenable than the mercurial Aerys. They could speak more bluntly.

"Agreed, and I didn't expect you would." The Queen took a piece of paper from a scribe behind her, pushing it across the table to Rickard. "Lord Mooton of Maidenpool passed recently of old age. The position of Master of Laws is thus vacant. This is a royal decree signed by my husband naming you to that position, and all it requires is your signature." She leaned back in her chair and waited for Rickard's answer.

To say that the Starks were stunned was an understatement. Rickard stared at the paper, reading the words over and over again to make sure of what it said. Brandon had no subtlety, gaping like a fish. "My father… Master of Laws? Part of the Small Council?" It was an honor no Stark had held since Cregan Stark in the early days of Aegon III's reign.

"Such is a great honor, your Grace," Rickard answered honestly, ignoring his son. The Warden of the North wished his heir would learn more tact from him - unlike the more taciturn and cautious Ned, Brandon was rash. Impetuous. One of the reasons Catelyn Tully was a good match. The dutiful and pious members of that house would temper Brandon's fire. "However, there must always be a Stark at Winterfell. I cannot accept on such… short notice."

"Father, what are…" Another elbow in the ribs shut Brandon up.

Rhaella's soft smile didn't fall. If anything, she seemed impressed. "You have a third son in Winterfell, correct?"

"Aye, Benjen, a good lad. Wants to be a knight of the realm." An idea came to mind. "I sought to end the isolation of the North in order to prepare better for winter and improve the North out of the provincial backwater most see it as. Already Hoster Tully of the Riverlands has promised supplies of wood and foodstuffs for the North."

"Something House Targaryen can promise to match double, perhaps triple," Rhaella continued. "For an alliance in perpetuity for the length of my husband and son's reigns on the Iron Throne. We are prepared to even offer a shipload of Myrish glass for your glass gardens. I have heard they are quite lovely."

The Queen had surprised him yet again. Leaning forward, Rickard felt this conversation was going perfectly. "I am truly impressed with your knowledge of the North, your Grace."

Her eyes sparkled. "Only fitting to learn of the land of my future gooddaughter." Yes, things were well on track.

* * *

_My dearest nephew,_

The lines in front of him were in High Valyrian - a particularly ancient form of High Valyrian. Few outside of several Archmaesters in the Citadel and scholars in Meereen could parse the script. Even among House Targaryen, it was an art that had come close to dying after the Dance of Dragons. Viserys II wrote it, as did Daeron II. Aegon V was a particularly fluent expert who taught it to his daughter Rhaella. And Rhaella taught it to Rhaegar, using his skills to converse with the man who had taught grandfather Aegon… Maester Aemon Targaryen at Castle Black.

_My unseeing eyes keep me from truly comprehending the words in front of me, but that doesn't mean I don't cherish every letter you send me. Keep family close, my nephew, and I pray that your family doesn't sunder itself as mine or your father's did._

_Your predicament is one that would both delight and vex lesser men. Two highborn beauties sharing your bed… even I am jealous…_

Rhaegar bit back a chuckle. His great uncle had a way with words - one can never be too old to look or to dream. Aemon gave the best advice, which was why Rhaegar wrote so often. One day I will meet you and free you of your exile to the useless Night's Watch. This he swore on every god he knew.

_And yet such unions pose great problems. Visenya grew bitter because though she married Aegon out of duty, she was hurt that he preferred Rhaenys over her. Maegor essentially condemned his brother to be overthrown when he sought a second bride, though I believe most of the anger there was driven by jealousy from the bitter old men within the Most Devout. I hesitate to comment on the particular peril in regards to your father and the current political climate. Your mother, my niece, would be more well versed on that. I can only truly give you proper advice on history and our family._

_Rhaegar, you are a dragon. You answer to neither gods nor men, and are recognized as exceptional by even the most zealous members of the Faith. Aegon married both his sisters and didn't look back - the propaganda says different but from the sources of our family Visenya and Rhaenys got along swimmingly, and at the time of Maegor's birth Aegon and Visenya completely reconciled. He was capable of loving more than one and so will you - it is in the dragon's blood. Along with the fighting and the ruling, we are predestined to be masters in the act of love as well._

He was no prude or shy virgin, but coming close to being lectured on the intimate arts by his ancient uncle very nearly turned him into one. Drinking a cup of watered wine to calm his flush, Rhaegar continued to read.

_I cannot tell you what to do, but let me elaborate on the same basis of advice I had given you before. Love is the death of duty, but what is duty compared to a beautiful baby in your arms? Compared to two beauties clung to your chest that absolutely adore you? Love… it is of itself its own duty, and those that truly love you would recognize your other duties and assist, not hinder them. From what you told me, Elia is of this and I pray that your Winter Bride is the same._

_Heed this, nephew. You'll have happiness as well as greatness._

_Your great-uncle._

_Aemon Targaryen._

Sighing, Rhaegar refilled his cup - enough to help ease his nerves, but not potent enough to dull his senses. _Aemon is more optimistic about Elia than reality._ Rhaegar cared deeply for his wife, a far better woman than he deserved. It could be called… love? But his father and both their expectations had strangled any true affection in the crib before it even happened. She would never truly love him, not in the way his uncle spoke of.

_Gods hope that Lyanna isn't the same._ The girl… she bewitched him with merely a look and a glimpse at her style. She was like no other, a beautiful yet indefatigable northern rose. Rhaegar hoped his mother's negotiations would bear fruit. If the Starks weren't amenable to the marriage, it would be even more loveless than his and Elia's.

A knock on the door interrupted his brooding. "Yes, Ser Arthur?" It could be only one, Rhaegar having given strict instructions not to be disturbed.

"You have a rather important guest seeking an audience, your Grace." The tone was formal - it had to have been quite serious. "The Lady Cersei Lannister."

Yes, very serious indeed. Rhaegar ran a hand through his silver locks, biting back a panicked breath. _Stop it, you are a dragon._ He took a deep breath and adopted his mask of strength yet polite indifference. "Let her in."

The Lady Cersei Lannister was quite a beautiful woman, bearing the same fair looks as her twin. Lesser men than he would have killed entire villages for the chance to even have one night with a woman such as her, and even Rhaegar had to admit that she would have been an illustrious match. But taking in the arrogant smile and air of almost girlish adoration in her gaze at him, Rhaegar knew why any semblance of this had to be crushed.

His father would kill her - rape her and kill her just to fuck with Tywin. And all she desired was to be Queen. Not him, but to be Queen. Even at their worst, Elia was sincere in wanting to be a proper confidant to him and a mother to their children. Cersei's immature pining was evident in how she bowed an over the top curtsey. "My Prince. I could think of no one I would have rather presented my belated arrival than yourself."

"You flatter me, my Lady," Rhaegar stated without a hint of affection. "Yet you could have done the same while my father and I were holding court."

"Perhaps, but my Lord Father recommended that I instead speak with you." _A half lie._ Tywin probably had told her to stay away from his father, and Cersei interpreted that to mean see him. The daughter of Casterly Rock had the makings of a power player on the political scene, just not with the subject of her girlish feelings - here she was as obvious as a roaring lion. "I have heard of his Grace's betrothal announcement. It is such a shame to be trapped in yet another marriage you do not want."

Honestly he would have felt that, but even one glimpse of Lyanna had muddled his feelings in that regard. Yet the hopeful gaze in Cersei's eyes, he had to extinguish it. "On the contrary, my Lady, I am quite enamored with my new bride. And she with me." Not a lie as to him, and wishful thinking on her part.

Cersei's smile fell. Hope curdling into a mix of worry and pleading. She had readily accepted to lead the Lannister delegation to the tourney with her father's reluctance to be in the same kingdom as Aerys to not only see her beloved brother but to finally seduce the Prince she loved. Hearing of the betrothal announcement hadn't dampened her resolve, since it seemed clear that Rhaegar didn't want it. But now he seemingly did. "My Prince, you need not let the spat between my father and your father affect things. You will be King…"

"Will be. I am not now - if I marry you, my father would kill you and then disinherit me."

"Just for disobeying…"

"Not just for that. He hates you, hates every Lannister. Ever since your mother spurned his advances so many years ago." Rhaegar didn't want to do this, but he needed Cersei to get out of his hair to keep the peace. "I am to marry the Lady Lyanna and keep Princess Elia."

Cersei felt her plan rapidly collapsing. "My Prince… I love you…"

_Gods, spare me these blushing maidens._ "You don't, my Lady. You only wish to be Queen. That I blame on your father and I can't fault you for his ambitions." Motioning for Ser Arthur, he gently guided her to the door. "But it will not happen, so I suggest finding someone else. You are a beautiful, desirable catch and I have no doubt you will find someone worthy of you."

"But…"

"Good day, Lady Cersei." He shut the door in her face, hoping to the gods that this would be the end of her meddling.

Staring at the oaken door with pure shock, Cersei just couldn't believe it. For the King to reject the betrothal request solely out of enmity to her father was one thing, for it had nothing to do with her. But for the Prince to point blank reject her to her face… _How? How can he choose that weak Martell girl or the… the… Northern girl over me?_ She was meant to be queen. Raised from birth to be queen. Told by the great Tywin Lannister that she would be queen…

"Best get a move on, my Lady," Ser Oswell stated bluntly. "The Prince has heard your piece already."

Shock turned to anger. "I am the daughter of the Warden of the West! You do not command me!"

The son of the Lord of Harrenhal smiled politely - it was far more condescending than a sneer. "Such is true, but you do not command me either, Lady Lannister. Please find someplace else to loiter or I will summon your brother to do it for me."

Mouth opening to retort, even in her anger Cersei realized that all of this was pointless. Turning, she stormed off, stormcloud crackling atop her head. "Good thing the Prince didn't marry this one," she heard the Sword of the Morning say to Whent, who laughed just as she turned the corner. It only served to stoke Cersei's rage.

So consumed was she in the ire over both Rhaegar's rejection and the insults of the Kingsguard, Cersei didn't realize she was set on a collision course till slamming right into a person turning into the hallway from a different corridor. The man stumbling but staying upright while Cersei toppled back. Crying out from the sharp pain on her backside. "Fuck!"

Regaining his balance, Ned Stark immediately was at the side of the woman he had absentmindedly knocked over. Noticing her fine spun silks, she was clearly a woman of high status. Honorably, he quickly pulled her up by the hand. "Please, forgive my lack of attention my La…" Ned trailed off, tongue tied as he finally caught a glimpse of her face.

The woman in front of him was stunning. Golden hair, honey skin, vibrant green eyes… she was perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever seen - and that included the dozens of highborn ladies that had congregated in Harrenhal to find proper intendeds. Opening his mouth, Ned tried to speak but found himself unable to.

Other than a cursory glance at his face, All Cersei could see was the direwolf sigil on the young man's leathers. A Stark! It was as if the gods continued to torture her that day. "Stuff your apology, northern fool!" And with that she disappeared down the corridor, leaving a befuddled Ned Stark staring at her retreating form.

* * *

At the second knock on the door, Rhaegar groaned. "Can this girl not take a hint?" he muttered to himself, this time not waiting for Ser Arthur or Ser Oswell to open it for him… Only this time it was not Cersei Lannister. Watched by the shit-eating grins of the two Kingsguards - they greatly enjoyed every latest development of the betrothal that didn't create cause for alarm, especially anything that would result in their Prince's annoyance or embarrassment - there stood Eddard Stark. Trying to appear stern and unyielding, but something was on his mind that didn't involve being here.

Nevertheless, he still bowed. "Your Grace."

Rhaegar nodded respectfully. "Lord Stark." He motioned with his hand. "Please come in." The second son of the Lord of Winterfell had the look of a Stark - almost perfect in that regard. Light brown hair that reached down to brush his shoulders, comely but ruggedly so, and a tough kind of wiry frame. And Rhaegar could tell, Eddard Stark wore his emotions on his sleeve - naturally brooding, but honest.

The Prince liked him already.

"Forgive me for being blunt upon our first words," Ned began, "But I just ran into a rather enraged woman in the corridors not a few minutes ago?"

Blinking, suddenly Rhaegar couldn't help but laugh. "Oh that." He shook his head. "Lady Cersei Lannister. Came to speak to me about a betrothal between us."

_Cersei Lannister…_ The beauty now had a name and a house - quite unattainable for a second son of a backwater, but for the goodbrother to the future King… _No, don't jape yourself, Ned._ "So that's who she was?" A wary look the Prince's way. "And did you accept?"

"Not in the slightest. I am… happily married to the Princess Elia, and the only other attachment would be to… your sister…" Rhaegar knew he was treading on thin ice, and wanted to make a good impression.

Expression hardening, Ned crossed his arms. "Do I have leave to speak freely, your Grace?"

Rhaegar waved his hand. "We are supposed to end up family, so I would only think less of you if you didn't, Lord Stark. And call me Rhaegar. You are in private and my future goodbrother, so you have leave to."

"Alright." The Prince had a charm about him, one that one couldn't help but like on an almost ordinary level - though the silver hair and stunning Valyrian features branded him as anything but ordinary. "I cannot lie and say the prospect of my sister being the second wife of a man is not concerning to myself and my House."

"Completely fair, Lord Stark…"

"If I am to call you Rhaegar, you may call me Ned."

A smile formed on the dragon's face. "Ned… if I have the honor of marrying the Lady Lyanna, she would be a Princess and Queen on equal footing as the Princess Elia. Targaryens are different from other families, and our blood leaves us quite… passionate with our love."

"As was Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel… at least at first." Ned regarded him with new eyes. He could see what his sister saw, what the singing represented. There wasn't anything underhanded about Rhaegar Targaryen, at least not in his own personality. The man was quite naturally a decent person, same as Lyanna. Knowing now where to look, Ned could tell. "You said 'if I have the honor.' You would seriously refuse your father's orders?"

Sighing, the Prince ran a hand through his hair. "I would hope such an event doesn't occur, but if need be I would never force your sister into a marriage she would not want." Such had essentially occurred with Elia, and Rhaegar was damned if he would do it again. "You have my word as a Targaryen, Ned." He offered his hand.

Ned took the offered hand, squeezing it. The Prince had a strong grip, but didn't show it off by crushing the other as Robert would have - a small but welcome sign. _Were the signs all there?_ "You seem to be a good man, my pri… Rhaegar. But I wouldn't call my judgement of a person the best after the last few days."

"Why is that?" Rhaegar was genuinely curious. This man would be his goodbrother, after all.

"Nothing…" Ned shrugged. "Just that I thought my best friend, Lord Baratheon would be an excellent match. Turns out he was… for House Stark. Not for Lyanna." Grey eyes found Rhaegar, narrowed. "It doesn't matter what I think, or what House Stark thinks. The North hasn't participated in southern politics since the Dance and we really don't need to now that our alliance with the Tullys is going through. I will not support any marriage alliance - not even one with the Targaryen Crown Prince - unless my sister approves."

Regarding the second son of House Stark, Rhaegar felt his respect for the young man only increase. _A little naive but that comes with age and pedigree._ _With the right wife, he should have been the heir to Winterfell._ "Frankly, Ned, I wouldn't expect anything else from honorable men."

Tension seeming to wash away, a small grin appeared on Ned's face. "Would you like to meet her?"

"What?" Rhaegar blinked, hoping he'd heard Ned correctly.

"Lyanna seems, taken with you, though she has told me you've never properly met." He wasn't going to betray her secrets, but her feelings for the Prince were obvious enough. "I think that should be rectified."

Rhaegar gulped. "I would very much like that, Lord Stark… if there is no trouble."

Grinning openly, Ned motioned to the door. "That, my Prince, would depend on Lyanna." The dragon and the wolf shared a chuckle before making their way out of the solar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you I'd be subverting expectations on this story. Gonna make sure they make sense but at this point in the timeline of GoT, the personalities are radically different enough to be able to start over :)
> 
> The first smatterings of pushback from the Dornish and the Faith. Expect more from the Dornish in the short term. We'll see more of Elia soon.
> 
> Rhaella is smart, and Master of Laws is probably a job well suited for Rickard.
> 
> Gotta love Aemon, and we'll see more of Cersei's reasoning. Let's just say that she will be on a different path.
> 
> Next up, Rhaegar meets Lyanna and we see more of Baelish ;)


	8. Guess Who's Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reception for this story continues to amaze :D
> 
> Lot of discussion about Cersei... fundamentally - as we will see - she isn't the bitter harpy she was in the show. Not yet at least.
> 
> Be sure to check out my new collaboration Last Hope For Westeros
> 
> Also, there's a new story I read called From the Ashes Begin Anew by bykim0120 - it's an alternate telling of Aegon's Conquest and it's really, really good! Check it out!
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

Household guards clicking their heels in attention as she walked past, Princess Elia Targaryen made sure to offer them sweet smiles. Acknowledging her approval of their diligence. Such was a reason she was quite popular in the capitol, much like how she was popular all over Dorne. She and Oberyn always treated the smallfolk and servants as human beings rather than furniture - though for Oberyn it was at least half-motivated to get under the skirts or into the pants of all of them - while Doran was more circumspect as a highborn was expected to behave.

If Elia cared for how people expected her to behave, she didn't largely care. Frail as she was, she was still a descendent of the Warrior Queen Nymeria, and would make her voice heard. Luckily, Rhaegar was compatible with that, even if their compatibility was frayed in other respects.

But her mind didn't focus on this, or even her usual risks and problems. With Aegon with his nursemaids and Rhaenys at her early lessons, the scroll in her hand needed attending to - and there was only one person she trusted enough to discuss it with.

No one willing to stop or sideline her with the King at Harrenhal, Elia threw open the door to the nondescript bedchambers despite the muffled grunts and moans emanating from within. They only grew once entering, eyes zeroing in on a tangle of sweaty flesh locked in the heat of passion. "Of course I find you here."

A scream left the throat of the pretty blonde chambermaid, eyes flying open to find the Princess staring at her with arms crossed. Mouth open as he emptied inside the warm cunt he had been enjoying, the burly guard turned and gasped. Pulling out and spilling his seed on the sheets, scrambling to find his trousers. After a moment, both hurried out of bed and bent the knee. "Your Grace."

Nodding at them, Elia shifted her gaze to the third person on the bed. "If you expect me to bend the knee, you can just execute me now… your Grace," Ellaria said sarcastically. Here she was, already on her second climax sandwiched between a powerful cock inside her and a beautiful maid to devour, only for her mistress to barge in.

Annoyed, Elia simply waved her hand. Dismissing both the guard and the servant, both of whom fled with all due haste. The Princess turned back to her lady in waiting. "Do you have any discretion? Like, any at all?" she huffed.

Standing, her nude body on full display - growing up in the Water Gardens, Elia was no prude, just private for her own activities - Ellaria walked towards a chest laid out on a table. "Stop being so paranoid, Princess. The King is out of the city, and you have free reign of the castle." Taking a flagon of moon tea from the chest, Ellaria downed it. While she had no compunction sleeping with the smallfolk, only one of noble blood could sire a child in her womb. "My offer still stands on joining me. There are several maidens that would love to have the future queen lick their cunt."

Elia blushed beet red. "That's… no… I am the wife of the Crown Prince. Even the appearance of impropriety could damage me."

An eyebrow rose, the Princess declining in a very… oblique way. _Something to consider later._ "Your loss," Ellaria shrugged, finally donning a robe - though the silky fabric left nothing to the imagination. "So why are you here interrupting my fun?"

Conversation finally changed, Elia sighed. Holding out the scroll. "It's done."

Brows furrowing in confusion, Ellaria took the dispatch, unfurling it and reading quickly. Her eyes widened almost immediately. "He did it already? His Grace doesn't waste time." She clicked her tongue, nodding. "So should I call you Ceryse Hightower now?"

"Shut up, this is serious… and I did bear Rhaegar children."

"It's said in Dorne that the Citadel and Most Devout used spells to make old Maegor childless, but I digress. It's official, the Prince is to be married again." For once, Ellaria's face twisted in concern. "How do you feel?"

"Honestly…" Plopping onto the bed, not caring that all manner of fluids were likely coating her orange dress, Elia covered her face in her hands. "Fearful. For this Stark girl… for Rhaegar… His Grace will only make them as miserable as he made me. Rhaegar especially, I worry so much for him…"

Ellaria sat next to her. "Because you love him?"

Another huff. "Because he's the father of my children and my friend."

"Friends don't coax those kinds of screams out of you at night… well, at least your friends don't."

Elia scowled. "You're impossible."

"And yet you don't want another lady in waiting." Wrapping an arm around Elia's shoulder, Ellaria comforted her as best she could. "Well, all we can do is wait till the tourney ends and they arrive in the capitol. Whether I should prepare for a celebration or a war." They sat silently for a few moments. "I wonder how pretty she is," she said lasciviously.

The Princess smacked her on the arm.

* * *

"... and the cook ended up slipping and falling into a sack of flour," Ned chuckled, regaling his soon to be goodbrother of a tale where the Stark siblings conspired to steal sweets from the Winterfell kitchens. Rhaegar listened intently, violet eyes sparkling largely for the first time since leaving his children in the Red Keep to come here. "Father was furious and called us all in his solar."

"Oh, this I have to hear." Rhaegar knew his father would have probably caned him and then had the cook executed, but he wouldn't let his family's darkness poison the Starks. _It will once you marry Lyanna._ He buried his guilt.

"Lyanna took the blame, saying she was acting alone." Ned smiled wistfully. "Father loves her the best, so she got the least punishment."

_Just like defending that young Lord._ A proud girl with a sense of justice - everything he heard of his bride was causing his heart to flutter, as if he were some lovestruck boy of ten and three."Your sister is quite a woman." Seeing Ned nod, Rhaegar tried a different tack. "I heard she's good with a sword."

Ned raised an eyebrow. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Servants gossip."

"That they do." Ned sighed. "Aye, she loves it. Riding and fighting - father didn't let her at first, but she wore him down. She's better than me sometimes."

Rhaegar chuckled. "I'll have to see that to believe it." _You already did._ "Baelor the Blessed locked his sisters in the maidenvault, but that's an extreme example. Your sister would have freedom in the Red Keep to an extent not seen in most castles. As a Princess, her authority is below only myself, my father, my mother, and Lord Connington."

"Equal to your other wife?" Ned held up two hands. "Not being antagonistic, but it's a fact. You'll have to handle that issue if the north will accept this marriage. Having the Princess Elia being the power and Lya being the broodmare will only insult the entire North."

Exhaling, Rhaegar vowed to himself to make sure Lyanna never felt like a second wife… nor Elia feeling like she was supplanted.

_He was capable of loving more than one and so will you - it is in the dragon's blood._

His great uncle's words provided the proper guidance.

Reaching the Stark tent, Rodrik Cassel - the head of their household guard - bowed low as he saw the dragon prince. "My Prince, Lord Stark…" When both tried to enter, he held up a hand. Less in an order and in more of a request. "I'd wait a moment before entering, your Grace. Ned."

Rhaegar blinked while Ned crossed his hands. "And why would that be? Is my brother styling his hair again?" He turned to his future goodbrother. "I swear, he'd perfume his beard when he's not breaking heads."

"Sounds like someone who should've been born in King's Landing," grinned Rhaegar. "So Ser Rodrik, right? Why can't we go in?"

Before Rodrik answered, a rather feminine giggle emerged from within. "Oh, Bran… you are good at this."

Both looking at each other, Ned grew embarrassed while Rhaegar laughed. "Seems you come from a very sexy family, Ned." _First Lyanna acts like a proper warrior lady, then Ned 'charms' Cersei Lannister, and now this._ He was having more fun than he had in a while.

Not amused at all, Ned slammed his hand against one of the beams holding the tent upright. "Bran! The Crown Prince is here to see Lyanna! If you have something you don't want him to see, please cover it!"

Muffled voices and the quick flutter of clothes came from within the tent. "Fuck, uh… seven hells… come in, my Prince." Letting Ned lead the way, Rhaegar came face to face with Lyanna's oldest brother and his betrothed. Brandon Stark was taller than Ned, less stocky and in possession with a more… classic beauty. His intended was clearly a Tully, fire red hair and outwardly dour… yet seemingly devoted to her betrothed. If he could settle down and she could loosen up, they'd be a solid match. Brandon bowed. "My Prince, it is an honor."

Eying the rather large red mark adorning Catelyn Tully's neck, Rhaegar grinned softly and nodded his head. "So you are the famous Brandon Stark your brother was telling me about." Brandon's brow rose as he looked at Ned. "Don't worry, he only said good things."

"Mostly good things," deadpanned Ned, earning an amused death glare from his brother. Rhaegar smiled wider, already charmed by the close sibling dynamics of House Stark - the closest he'd seen to him was Oberyn and Elia. It heartened him in regards to Lyanna.

_Lyanna._

Japes aside, the serious matter underlying all of them was forefront. "I wasn't happy, my Prince." Brandon's eyes narrowed, while Catelyn looked slightly uncomfortable as her intended challenged the Crown Prince. "What his Grace did, without consulting my father, it seemed very much like stealing my sister."

Rhaegar sighed. "That's my father, not me. I have nothing but the best intentions for your sister, and I hope I am a worthy replacement for the betrothal to Lord Baratheon…"

While it was a humbling gesture on Rhaegar's part to earn their trust, the mere mention of Robert's name drove Brandon to anger. "That pig?! I'd betroth my sister to a gravedigger before him!" A gentle touch from his betrothed calmed him down. "I am no longer angry with you, my Prince, but I will not have my sister treated like a common broodmare, do you understand?"

"I understand perfectly." He clasped his hand on his chest. "On my honor as a Targaryen, that will never be my intention." Brandon's gaze softened, Ned smiling. This was going well.

"No, Petyr! Don't!" The four within the tent looked at the entrance, attention caught by the frantic screaming. "You'll die!"

"That's my sister…" Catelyn murmured.

"Get your hands off me, Lysa!" came a reedy but masculine voice. One Rhaegar recognized as that of a smoothtalker trying his best to appear strong and vicious. King's Landing had plenty of suckups like that. Lo and behold, Petyr Baelish stormed into the tent, red as a ripe apple. Clutched to his doublet trying to pull him back was ten and three year old Lysa Tully, eyes wide and tears streaming as she screeched incoherently. Eyes falling on Catelyn, likely seeing the mark on her neck, Baelish's face grew even redder. "Brandon Stark, you wretch! Unhand the Lady Catelyn at once!"

Catelyn opened her mouth to scold him only for Brandon to urge her protectively behind him. "What did you call me, Littlefinger?!"

"Both of you! Hold your tone in the presence of the Crown Prince!" Ned saw an opportunity to calm things down and took it.

Littlefinger's anger abated slightly, going white at the first glimpse of the Prince - rage so consuming that he hadn't even noticed. The thin minor lordling fell to his knees, trembling. "Please, please forgive me for my outburst, your Grace. I meant you know insult…"

Rhaegar waved him off. "Get up. It's obvious that your quarrel is with the heir to Winterfell. I'll act as mediator in my role as Crown Prince." Might as well show his future family that he wasn't some mad dragon breathing fire on everything that crossed him. "Now, what is the problem?"

Rage returning to him, Littlefinger leveled an accusatory finger at Brandon. "This immoral cunt doesn't deserve my Catelyn."

"Petyr!" the Tully girl shouted incredulously.

"Call me a cunt one more time…" Brandon hissed back. "I don't take insults from some no-name lordling with nothing to your name."

He was undeterred. "She deserves someone who actually loves her. Like me!"

Both Brandon and Ned snickered, finding the whole thing hilarious. Rhaegar bit back a laugh as well - this boy was the scrawny son of a hedge knight. Could he realistically hope to marry the daughter of a Lord Paramount? It had happened before, but not often and not for scrawny weaklings like him. "If you wish to make a bid for the Lady Catelyn's hand, you can speak with Lord Tully."

"Petyr, please," Catelyn pleaded, grabbing Brandon's hand. "I've given my heart to Bran, please just let me be happy, as my friend."

Words hurting him beyond belief, Littlefinger fought off tears within his eyes. "No. I cannot let you make this mistake."

Brandon stepped forward. "You heard the lady, get the fuck out of this tent…"

What Littlefinger said next shocked all of them. "I challenge you, Brandon Stark to a duel for Lady Catelyn's hand."

"What?"

"Nooo!" shrieked both Catelyn and her little sister.

"Oh just perfect" mumbled Ned to the Prince. "Just what we need, more drama."

* * *

A pair of highborn ladies about ten feet away, conversation stilling as Lyanna walked by. Eyes flickering to her in a curious wonder. The tenth time that day alone that someone within the tourney grounds - strangers to her - observed her as a smallfolk toddler would a great knight mounted upon his horse. Her household guardsmen that provided the escort her father insisted upon managed to ward away the more leering male gazes with grunts and half-drawn swords, but chose not to interfere with the more benign ones.

With the murmurings between the two ladies, Lyanna groaned. "I don't think I'll ever get used to this."

"You're practically a Targaryen now," Dacey shot back, smirking. "Get used to it. They get stares wherever they go - even the ones that marry into the House of Dragons, their beauty is still sung of to this day."

"Are you trying to make me feel better? Cause it isn't working." Lyanna was used to such stares in Winterfell, but it was… different there. The North always had a sense of close knit camaraderie due to the harsh terrain and brutal winters. Lords that weren't shy about knocking back ale with their charges and smallfolk that could always count on the swift counsel and justice of their Lords. Not so in the south, where questions of form usually took priority over substance. Lyanna enjoyed being able to slip out unnoticed, the level of anonymity being the daughter of an important but backwater House gave her. Now… "I'm like a caged bird, always being gawked at."

Dacey glanced at her, frowning. "Would you rather be chained to Lord Baratheon?"

There was a pause. "I never said that," Lyanna said finally. "Rhaegar… I don't think he would chain me that way." She wanted someone who would respect and honor her, eccentricities and all - Robert wouldn't, while she felt Rhaegar would. "It's the title that's constricting, not the man." For someone that considerate, she'd endure any sense of social duty required of her.

Sensing Lyanna was done with the particular subject, Dacey switched the topic of conversation. Leaning in to whisper. "I found you a lance."

Lyanna raised an eyebrow. "That quickly?" Each spoke in a hushed whisper only the other could hear. "How'd you get it?"

Her Lady in Waiting grinned. "A girl has her ways, especially a Mormont." Of the two, Dacey still bore a significant anonymity among the highborns given that House Mormont was the backwater of the Realm's backwater. A small house, but a proud one as Dacey had said of it, and Lyanna couldn't help but agree. "Howland is handling most of the procurement though. Short and plain, always overlooked. Said he knew the perfect sigil."

"Oh, and what is it?" Couldn't very well use that of a direwolf, or any wolf for that matter. Too obvious.

Smirking, Dacey shook her finger. "Be patient." A giggle at Lyanna's cross look. "Don't worry, it'll be fitting…" She was cut off as a man bumped into her, nearly sending the slender she-bear toppling to the ground. It was Littlefinger, almost comically angry with a flushed face and glowering expression. "Watch it, cunt!" Dacey hissed.

The son of the Fingers glanced back, but his eyes settled on Lyanna. "Tell your shit of a brother that he's going to get what he deserves!"

Bryen, Lyanna's lead guard, glared menacingly at Littlefinger. "Best be on your way now, lad."

Still smoldering, Baelish turned and stormed off. Blinking, the ladies hurried back to their tent to find Catelyn Tully hugging her inconsolable sister, Brandon and Ned standing awkwardly to the side. "By the gods, what in seven hells happened?!" Lyanna exclaimed.

"Petyr Baelish challenged Brandon to a duel for Catelyn's hand," Ned answered grimly, nervously glancing back at the tent.

"I knew he had affections for her." It was parent by just looking at him, but it seemed to Lyanna that Catelyn had no idea. _Is she that clueless about some things?_

"He'll be killed!" wailed Lysa, who then glared venomously at Brandon. "Look what you did, murderer!" From terrified screams to enraged snarls. The younger Tully daughter clearly had issues, Lyanna could see.

"This is not Bran's fault, it's Petyr's." Say what one wants about Catelyn Tully, she was completely devoted to her betrothed. "He came looking for a confrontation and he got one."

If it weren't for her sister's grip around her, Lyanna thought Lysa would have charged at her brother. "Is this what you wanted?! My sister to your grubby little wildling paws that you'd kill the best man in the world!"

Brandon snorted. "I'm not going to kill him, and I doubt he'll even come close to me." Normally arrogant, from the looks of Petyr Baelish the arrogance on her brother's part was well founded. "Ned, Cat. I need to get something to eat. The morning's…" His eyes flickered suspiciously away from Lyanna. "Discussions and this… whatever it was made me hungry." With a look of longing from his bride, Brandon left.

Clearing his throat, Ned walked to his sister. "Lya, there's someone in the tent wanting to see you about something. Go talk to him while I escort Catelyn and Lysa back to their father." He looked at Dacey. "Mind helping me out?"

"Of course," Dacey replied, smiling at Lyanna who only raised her eyebrows. _Who wants to see me?_ From the way Dacey jumped to go with her brother, it had to be Howland. _You fool, why are you here so blatantly…_ Determined to chew him out, she marched into the tent only to stop in her tracks. Grey eyes meeting a breathtaking shade of violet, knocking all words… all thoughts out of her.

Rhaegar Targaryen smiled at her. "Lady Lyanna," he bowed. Up close and personal, he could feel this woman's effect on him, an enchantment that consumed his very soul. A betrothal he had been dreading for weeks, suddenly upended in… _has it only been a day?_ Since seeing Lyanna Stark fighting those squires, all bigger than her, he haunted his every thought and he just couldn't stop it. _Do I want to?_

Owl eyed, it took a moment for Lyanna to comprehend who was standing before her. Blushing, she curtseyed, simple tan dress billowing out as she did so. "Your Grace." Trying to ignore the look of him in the dragon-emblazoned gambeson that showed off his toned muscles and trim waist…

There was no denying Lyanna Stark was a beauty. Harsh and wild, but such only enhanced her charm. _A direwolf… wild winter rose._ "I spoke with both your b...brothers," he said, stammering slightly. "Given our… situation, I feel we should be properly introduced to each other."

Standing there, fingers fiddling with the pleats of her dress, Lyanna's heart thudded out of her chest. The normally unflappable daughter of winter knocked for a loop by the close proximity of the handsome Dragon Prince. "I… I see nothing wrong with that." Here to meet her, to be formally introduced. The last time a man had come for that from her, it hadn't ended well - but this one was different. Lyanna wanted to speak with Rhaegar. "Um… would you like to take a seat, your Grace?"

Falling back on his chivalrous demeanor drummed into him while a squire for Ser Barristan, Rhaegar nodded - containing his amusement about how flustered the Northern beauty was acting. It was both comical and undeniably sweet. "Lead the way, Lady Stark."

Confident but polite, Rhaegar's attitude only flustered Lyanna more. The young girl wanting nothing but to jump him and find out if his lips were as delicious as they looked. "Follow me, this way," she croaked, leading him to her sleep quarters.

"I'm curious as to why House Stark needed a tent." Rhaegar couldn't help but ask, it was not important but gnawed at him. Wanting to know. "As the Warden of the North, Lord Rickard could have had his pick of guest suites in the keep provided by Lord and Lady Whent."

Lyanna shrugged, trying to keep it together. "We got here after the other high lords, and besides. We northerners like to stick with each other." Pushing aside the privacy flap, Lyanna did a double take. Strewn about her cot and chest were bundles of clothes - dresses, sleepwear… underclothes. "Oh gods…"

Pursing his lips, it took all of his strength not to collapse into a fit of laughter - also to hide a spike of desire at seeing the garments his intended wore under her form-fitting dresses. "I take it that these weren't meant to be seen by me, Lady Stark."

Face flushed beet red, she dashed to the bed, scooping clothes and dumping them in her chest. "Stupid servants, stupid Dacey." Lyanna began breathing quickly, humiliated beyond belief. _What is fucking wrong with me… Gods, I'm panicking like a little girl… in front of Rhaegar Targaryen… oh Gods…_

Unable to stop himself, Rhaegar snickered, finding Lyanna's frantic back and forth an absolute disaster. One of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, enchanting him greatly, here she was acting like a clumsy maiden… and it only served to increase her charm in front of him. Eyes flickering to the chest, something caught his eye. Rhaegar strode to it while Lyanna was busy gathering her shifts in a big ball. "I know this book." Sure enough, the lettering on the spine confirmed it - the binding was the same as the copy in the Red Keep. "_Dancing Dragons_, by King Viserys II."

Dropping the bundle of clothes, Lyanna blinked. Eyes widening. "Did you read it, your Grace?"

"Of course. It was my favorite as a child - still is by a matter of fact."

Her embarrassment and frantic worry fell, a warm hitch in her heart. "It is my favorite too…" Was she asleep? No, she couldn't be dreaming - this was something she wouldn't have comprehended. "My brother gave it to me as a tenth nameday gift from the Vale."

"Your brother has excellent taste." Opening the book, taking great care to not damage the pages or the binding, he looked at her with keen interest. "Unlike his father, Viserys wasn't an exceptional warrior. He was smart, but contemptible of maesters as well." Waiting for her leave to sit, Lyanna nodded, sitting on her cot and beaming when the gorgeous Valyrian Prince sat next to her. Setting the book back in her lap. "Ended up writing the most accurate take of the Dance of Dragons ever written, even though the Citadel keeps trying to ban this book."

Lyanna looked at him, surprised. "Why would they do that?"

Rhaegar shrugged. "He fought the official historical account written by the Maesters. Knew what they did to Maegor's reputation and was not about to let it happen to his mother and father." This was greatly pleasing to him. Elia liked to read but they couldn't get past their reservations to be that… intimate. His mother was his mother, Connington didn't care for history, and none of the Kingsguards could really be bothered. The Prince wanted someone he could discuss these things for hours on end - and it seemed like he found her. _How did I never know of this woman till now?_ "The maesters insist that Prince Daemon only married Rhaenyra for her throne."

"That is a lie," Lyanna stated vehemently. Their romance had shaped her childhood and adolescent dreams of love, as stated in the novel. "They were madly in love, just like the book says." At his sigh, she placed her hands in her lap. Looking at him pleadingly. Worriedly. "Weren't they…?"

Sighing again, Rhaegar leaned back. "The Maesters wanted to discredit Rhaenyra, largely because she was a woman and their patron, House Hightower, was the blood of the Greens. However, from what our house's sources say, Daemon did initially marry her for the throne, plus for her beauty. Those stories of her growing fat… hugely exaggerated." As he spoke the light in her grey eyes started to dim. As if he had just strangled to death the most precious thing to her. It broke his heart. "But that's not the whole story."

The northern beauty hung on his every word. "Tell me, my Prince."

Gods, this girl would be the death of him. "Something about a dragon… we are temperamental and rather impulsive, especially in our love lives. But when it comes down to it, we mate for life. Such as it was with Daemon. He couldn't help but fall for his she-dragon, even going so far as to leap to his certain death at the God's Eye just to protect her." Glancing at the she-wolf, she was close to swooning. Clutching the book to her chest as if having made a long-sought discovery. "I only wish Winterfell wasn't so far away. Had Cregan Stark got there sooner, Daemon and Rhaenyra would have sat on the Iron Throne for a long time."

Gleeful, Lyanna impulsively reached over to poke Rhaegar in the chest. "You see now the power of the Direwolf. Winter comes for our enemies." Realizing how informal she acted, her eyes widened and she drew away. Opening her mouth to apologize, Lyanna caught the glint in his violet eyes and suddenly they burst into laughter. "Please," she said through her giggles. "Forgive me for that, your Grace."

"Don't worry about that," he said gently, reaching out to place his hand on hers. "And you're my betrothed. Call me Rhaegar."

_Rhaegar…_ The flutter in her heart returned. A pleasant warmth pulsing from his hand onto hers. _If this is what the touch of his hand on mine feels like…_ Lyanna crossed her legs, hoping he didn't notice the sudden heat in her core. "I… like that… Rhaegar." His name felt so good on her lips. "Call me, Lyanna."

"Lyanna. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman." She could barely reply. _He thinks I'm beautiful… what happened to me?_ Whatever did, she didn't mind. "So, Lyanna. Tell me something about yourself."

Blinking, Lyanna stared at him. "You want to know about me?"

He peered at her as if he couldn't fathom what she said. "We are to be married. Of course I want to know about you." What had happened to the stunning winter rose? "Why would you think I didn't care to ask?"

"I…" Wiping her eyes, Lyanna just smiled warmly at him. Robert hadn't even bothered to ask. _Rhaegar is not Robert._ Had she ever thought she'd end up so lucky? Her Dragon Prince just got more and more beautiful with each passing moment. _My Dragon Prince…_ "What would you like to know?"

"Everything," he rasped, captivated by her smile. No woman in his life had ever truly enchanted him in the way she did. "I don't know what it is about you, Lyanna. But ever since I caught a glimpse of you… at the feast, you've never been far from my mind."

Blushing bright red, she tucked her head between hunched shoulders. Feeling like a lovestruck maiden… which she was. Despite how Robert treated her and the violation she felt, nothing would have made Lyanna happier than if Rhaegar leaned in and kissed her - so hard she had fallen for him, the plummet neverending. "You can say the same for me, Rhaegar. I've never met a more… breathtaking man." Gently, she stroked his palm with her thumb. Enjoying the calloused yet soft skin of an accomplished swordsman.

Matching her smile with one of his own, Rhaegar cleared his throat. "Your brother told me how much of a rider you are." Honestly, it was the first thing that came to mind. "Said you could put a Dothraki screamer to shame while mounted."

Face sparkling with joy, Lyanna pondered for a moment then stood. Tugging on the Prince's hand. "Why tell you when I can show you, my Prince." The last was teasing, letting Rhaegar know what kind of a woman he was to marry. From the twinkle in his violet eyes, he clearly didn't mind in the slightest.

Outside the tent, a quick rush to the stables of the northmen found a particular stall. "Alright, what is it you want to show me?" Rhaegar asked.

Whistling, Lyanna laughed when Winter poked his head out of the stall. Nicking happily and brushing her muzzle against the she-wolf's hair. "Winter, girl… stop it," she laughed, a more beautiful sound Rhaegar had never heard. "My Prince, this is Winter. I raised her since she was but a little foal." As the dapple-grey mare calmed down, Lyanna felt slightly nervous. The Prince of Dragonstone likely had every manner of fine mounts in the stables of King's Landing. What would he say about the stalwart northern breed? She didn't even think about showing her off to Robert.

Approaching the horse, Rhaegar found Winter staring at him. Huffing and attempting to knock him away when the Prince raised a hand to stroke her head. "Hey, shhhh…" He moved to calm the agitated horse. _"Gīda riña, gīda,"_ he cooed softly, hand gentle against the animal's hide. _"Issa sȳz, Sōnar."_ High Valyrian tumbled from his lips automatically, the language he used when speaking to the animals on Dragonstone. Amazingly, the horse calmed down, stilling and accepting Rhaegar's touch. The Prince smiled, Winter reminding him so much of Lyanna. _"Iksā iā gevie anne, Sōnar. Sepār gevie."_

Lyanna stared with mouth agape as Winter nicked, nuzzling Rhaegar's shoulders the same way she had done for her. "Winter is never that good with strangers…" He's perfect… and mine. She couldn't hope to contain her excitement and joy.

_You'll have to share him…_

The daughter of Winterfell put that aside for now. "Would you like to go for a ride, Rhaegar?"

Giving one last stroke to the stunning horse, Rhaegar almost said yes. "I'm afraid I'll have to pass on that, my dear Lyanna."

Her face fell, though Lyanna passed it off with a grin. "Are you scared that your betrothed would beat you in a race?"

Rhaegar chuckled. "As fun as that sounds, it is getting late in the evening. I wouldn't want to keep you past dark." While she was sad about it, it was clear the lady understood. _I think she's close to perfect._ "Would you like me to escort you through Harrenhal? I've been here plenty of times before, so I can give you the grand tour."

The grey eyes that so captivated him lit up. Without hesitation, she looped her arm in his, not wanting to be parted from the dashing Rhaegar Targaryen at the moment. "Lead the way, my Prince." It was as if they had always known each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't have been any more different than meeting Robert, right?
> 
> I had so much fun writing the Elia scene. Nothing's boring when Ellaria is your lady in waiting, and she and Oberyn were made for each other.
> 
> I know Petyr didn't duel Brandon until he got to Riverrun, but what the heck?
> 
> Next up: Cersei confronts Jaime and Ned confronts Robert.


	9. Doubts and Discussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with a new chapter. Hope y'all are liking :D
> 
> Finished my story A Terrible Resolve and almost done on my magnum opus Empire of Ice and Fire. Be sure to check them out, as well as my fics Heart of the Blessed and Last Hope For Westeros (on archive of our own).
> 
> Also, there are two new stories I read that are pretty interesting; one's called From the Ashes Begin Anew by bykim0120 - it's an alternate telling of Aegon's Conquest while the other is called Wolves of War by my good friend GulfYankee23 that's a post season 8 ressurection/reconciliation fic. Both are really, really good! Check the out!
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

"I can't believe Harren the Black would just stand firm against a dragon." Walking atop the massive walls of the largest keep in Westeros, the moonlight reflecting beautifully over the rippling waters of the God's Eye to their south, Lyanna looked up at the handsome Targaryen Prince. Transfixed at how he described the history of Aegon the Conqueror's war over the Riverlands. His rendition was so much better than how the maesters taught her, and filled with new information.

Rhaegar shrugged, laughing. "Pride goeth before the fall. Harren had absolute power for forty years, probably thought his great castle could withstand even dragonfire." They had walked all over the grounds of the castle, seen by highborns and smallfolk alike. Ladies looked at Lyanna with jealousy, while the men had a combination of admiration and jealousy. Most had seen Elia, and now another beautiful maiden on his arm. All it did was make Rhaegar stand ever straighter, disbelieving of his luck in finding a precious winter rose that Lyanna seemed to be. "'What is outside my walls is of no concern to me. Those walls are strong and thick,' he told my ancestor. Smug cunt."

Giggling, Lyanna pulled herself closer to Rhaegar's torso, seeking out his warmth. The dragonblood within him gave it off in spades. "And what happened next, my Prince?"

A shiver passed through Rhaegar, and it wasn't due to the cold. _She is so soft…_ He thanked the gods that his thick cloak managed to conceal the bulge in his trousers - prurient thoughts about pushing Lyanna against the keep's walls and having her swimming through his mind. "Visenya's personal diary states that Aegon simply looked at Harren, narrowed his eyes, and said 'When the sun sets, your line shall end.' And…" Rhaegar stretched out his arms, one finger pointing to the great Kingspyre Tower, still bearing the scars of being melted away. "He spoke the truth."

Biting her lip, Lyanna wondered if this was all just a dream. Just over a day ago she had been stuck in a betrothal with a whoring oaf who truly cared nothing about her, and now… A dashing Targaryen Prince. Respectful, smart, and just… a beautiful, beautiful man. Lyanna Stark could see a life with this man, for the first time truly desiring a marriage rather than the dream of a wild freedom like those north of the Wall. Her entire life having changed the instant she heard Rhaegar Targaryen sing. That song… "Rhaegar, may I ask you something?"

Taking in her soft voice, Rhaegar chuckled. "Why do you ask, Lyanna? You always have leave to ask a question of me." This was such a deviation from the brave warrior lady he had seen fight the squires the day before. Did he make her this shy and demure?

"Who is Jenny?"

"Jenny?" His brows furrowed. "Where did you get that name?"

"You sang of her." Lyanna blushed, hoping he didn't think less of her - _when did I truly care what other people thought?... When you all but have fallen in love with them._ Oddly, Lyanna didn't feel shame in being swept off her feet, though she had made fun of her friends for swooning over young knights and warriors. Looking at Rhaegar, she noticed his eyes were wide with shock - it somehow calmed her. "I was out in the woods for… just riding. Getting some air, and I saw you in a clearing with your harp."

Coughing, sputtering, Rhaegar was floored. _She heard me?_ After taking his horse deep into the woods that he knew so well exploring with Oswell just so that no one would ever find him. _Clever girl._ He didn't let anyone catch him singing in the open, not since his father smashed the first harp his mother had brought for him when he was only ten and three, thrusting a sword in his hand and telling him to spar. Truth be told, there was still a little shame in him for liking the musical arts… and here was the breathtaking Lyanna Stark telling him that she heard. "Jenny of Oldstones. It is a song I wrote and composed myself. Days on Dragonstone are sometimes boring."

Lyanna peered at him, curious. "Who is Jenny? Was she your first love?"

This he could confidently shake his head. "No, gods no. Jenny was my aunt, the wife of my uncle Duncan."

"Duncan Targaryen? The Prince of Dragonflies?" Now that was a name that everyone from the Wall to the Water Gardens knew of. How he gave up his birthright to his younger brother Aerys for the love of a common woman from the Riverlands. "Jenny… she was the woman he loved and married, yes?"

"Aye." Rhaegar sighed. "A lovely woman. Father hated her, but she was too popular to be booted out of court. Aunt Jenny was always kind to me until her death ten years ago. Mother said it was of a broken heart." He still remembered her funeral, attended by at least a hundred thousand people in King's Landing - his father didn't attend, celebrating with a quiet feast of him and his cronies. "I wrote the song several years ago… to honor her memory." Rhaegar smiled wistfully. "She'd always go to ruins of Summerhall every year since Duncan died, to be with the spirits of her beloved."

A tear fell down Lyanna's cheek. "That's beautiful." She put two and two together. "You were born during the fire, correct?"

Rhaegar nodded. "That's why the song has great meaning for me. Uncle Duncan died so that I could live, at least that was what Aunt Jenny said. 'Only death can pay for life.'" Great sorrow overcame him, turning away from his betrothed and leaning forward against the stone battlements. Gazing out over the God's Eye. Willing away the pain of it all until he felt a soft kiss on his cheek.

It was instinct on Lyanna's part, but already she felt her face blush. Hoping she hadn't overstepped some boundary. But that worry was dispelled as he turned his head, smiling at her. A smile that made the she-wolf go weak at the knees. "If… if you must know, my Prince. Your singing was beautiful." She had never heard something more beautiful in her entire life. "I would very much like it if you sang for me."

The prospect was quite appealing to Rhaegar, taking the maiden's hands in his. "That is something I can promise," he smiled widely, stroking her soft skin with his thumb. "I would gladly for my woman. Elia says it's when she feels closest to me…" Rhaegar shut his mouth, realizing the mistake he made. Stupid. Blowing up their happy bubble with things better discussed another time.

Lyanna pulled her hands back, instantly regretting the loss of warmth - wrapping her arms around her torso protectively. "You are still married to another." Much as it complicated things, she had to bring it up.

"I am not letting her aside, Lyanna. Nor does it matter." He ran a hand through his hair. "My father is determined to have me emulate Aegon the Conqueror and I can't disagree with him there?"

"So which would I be? Rhaenys or Visenya?" Lyanna didn't want to be biting, but it slipped out. "The carefree wife without power or the powerful Queen without love." Feeling a tinge of pain at how Rhaegar winced.

"Those characterizations were lies written by men with agendas," Rhaegar shot back, also regretting it at Lyanna's flinch. "I'm sorry, Lyanna… I… fuck. Elia is my wife and the mother of my children. I care about her a great deal but with you… you enthrall me. I really can't explain it."

To have the beautiful Dragon Prince all but throwing himself at you - Lyanna shuddered with warmth, wanting nothing more than for him to strip her naked and take her maidenhead right there, right now. But her mind and heart were a confused cauldron of swirling emotions. It was overwhelming. "I feel the same, Rhaegar. Since I heard you sing I wonder if I've fallen for you completely, but my whole life I've run away from marriage. From being a lady, not from a lack of interest or desire but… I can't explain it either." He moved to embrace her but she backed away. "I would probably choose you in a heartbeat all else being the same, but you being married. Your father practically forcing us together…"

Rhaegar had an inkling of how she felt. "You don't wish to be controlled." Her father, the Faith, Dorne, so many would be predisposed to hate Lyanna upon contact. Hells, he hadn't even really thought of how Elia would feel to see him with actual feelings for his second wife. "To be forced into a life of complete notoriety, thrust into a world where your duties overwhelm your desires?"

She bit her lip again, nodding. Rhaegar read her so well. "I'm sorry, Rhaegar." Tears pricked at her lids, knowing she ruined everything. Being unable to just tell Rhaegar what she wanted, her fears of being caged, even by someone so unlike Robert. By circumstance. I'm just a coward. When he pulled her into an embrace, Lyanna didn't even fight it.

"Don't be sorry, my wolf." Yes, she was his wolf. "It is just the first day of our betrothal. We have plenty of time."

Yes, plenty of time. Perhaps after the Tourney… "You're right." She laughed weakly. "It's only been one day."

He laughed as well. "One damn day." Soon, both were clutching the other, laughing uproariously at how silly it all was. The price of being a royal. He kissed her forehead. "It has been enough for one day. How about I escort you back to your family."

Lyanna still felt the tingle of his lips against her skin. Even with all her reservations and emotions, it was so wonderful. Like they belonged there. "Thank you." She smiled so widely, letting him guide her back to her tent.

* * *

Polishing off a dispatch to Maester Luwin, Rickard Stark picked up another sheif of letters from the Night's Watch. Scanning the first line, the Lord Commander was going on about desertions and the need for more recruits. The Lord of Winterfell put in a mental note to ask the Queen or Prince Rhaegar about emptying the Black Cells for men to send there when some hushed voices came from outside the tent. Tiptoeing to peek, he saw the Prince with his darling she pup. Kissing her hand as she blushed.

_Young love._ Shaking his head with a smile, Rickard went back to his desk just as Lyanna walked in. "Oh…" She looked startled. "I didn't expect you to be up, father."

"Getting some work done. The business of a Lord never sleeps," he chuckled. "Come sit with me." The graceful young lady did as bidded. _Growing more and more like her mother every day._ "I've come to an arrangement with the crown with which to give my blessing to your betrothal to the Crown Prince."

Beaming, Lyanna threw her arms around her father. The prospect of marrying Rhaegar - no matter what concerns she had shared with him - still filled the she-wolf with happiness. _He cares for me. He respects me._ They even found the same book as their favorite. Lyanna really didn't believe in fate, but this sure seemed like it. "Thank you, father. Thank you."

Rickard laughed, hugging her back. Feeling the joy at seeing his little pup like this - it truly assuage his guilt about Robert. The old gods provided for her… But she was still so young. He had barely raised her how to be a proper southern lady, let alone a Queen. Cersei Lannister or Elia Martell all had lifelong education in court procedure and southern politics. _Starks don't do well south of the Neck._ The only ones he remembered that did so were Theon the Hungry Wolf and Cregan, who were utterly ruthless and cunning.

_That's what we'll have to be._

"You are the best father I could have ever asked for."

Nearly melting at her words, Rickard had to force himself to remain serious. "Your joy brings me joy, little pup, but I fear you may still be buried in your novels to understand the gravity of the situation."

Pulling back from their embrace, Lyanna sat back. Hands on her lap as she sighed. Another one of her father's kindly lectures… Ironically the last time had been when she was informed of her impending betrothal to Robert Baratheon, but now there wasn't anything to worry about on that front. "How so, father?"

"You won't be alone in going to King's Landing. The Queen - on behalf of His Grace - offered me the open post of Master of Laws and I have accepted." He watched as Lyanna's eyes lit up in pride for her family. "Brandon and Ned will accompany us, Ned until the wedding and Brandon for six months after. Benjen also has a position on the Kingsguard if he wants it."

Lyanna couldn't believe it. Her family was going to be in the capitol with her. Even Benjen. "Father, that's wonderful!"

"It is very prestigious. But you have to realize, Lyanna, Rhaegar isn't the King." The sparkle in her eyes began to falter and Rickard hated it. "I haven't met him yet, but from what your brothers tell me he is a kind and intelligent man. He is not the King, Aerys is. All the rumors of him are true, and the court in King's Landing has gotten correspondingly worse - not that it wasn't already a lime pit to start with." He reached out and held his pup's hand. "You were lucky experiencing the North or the Vale. We northmen are blunt and honest, while Jon Arryn takes the knightly vows quite seriously. The rest of court is not the same."

"I know, father. I read the stories of the Dance of Dragons." Intense dragon battles and torrid love affairs were one thing, but even Viserys II detailed just how cutthroat and vicious that hemmed both the war and the period leading up to it.

Scooting over, tucking his daughter against his shoulder, Rickard kissed her forehead. "It's one thing to read about it, and another to experience it. You will be thrust into the biggest den of vipers there is, not to mention being the second wife that will only earn hate simply for existing."

She lowered her head. "Dorne and the Faith…"

"Yes." It broke his heart to dampen her dreams, but it was necessary. "You'll need to both lean on your betrothed, but also learn quickly to stand on your own two feet. To deal in circles that will need subterfuge and cunning - if you truly think being the second Queen to Prince Rhaegar is worth it, then tell me now."

Pursing her lips, staring off into the distance, all Lyanna could think about was her betrothed's singing voice - serenading her without him even knowing it. "It is worth it, father."

Rickard smiled. "Come'ere little pup." This time the embrace didn't break apart.

Given the stubborn need for her father to remain at his desk for hours, burning the midnight candle wicks till they were mere nubs, it was closer to dawn than dusk when Lyanna was able to sneak out of the tent. The guards were concerned with someone getting in, not out - it was just a matter of daring and patience. Lyanna possessing much of the later and enough of the former. Cloak wrapped tightly around her, she disappeared into the maze of tents. Ignoring the moonlight in favor of the shadows.

As such, she found Dacey and Howland rather tired and perturbed. "What the fuck took you so long?" hissed the she-bear, hands on her hips and teeth chattering. "It's cold as a blizzard." Howland said nothing out of respect for her, but Lyanna could tell he was miserable.

"Forgive me," she replied genuinely. "Father was working late and it hampered my opportunities for sneaking out." Lyanna felt a bit annoyed at first, but seeing how chilly they were did temper her anger. "So what do we have?"

"Waldron and the others have scheduled tilts for two days from now. As part of the first time contenders," Howland informed them both. While the first tilts in the joust would be tomorrow, no one expected the first timers to compete against veterans immediately. They had one day to prove themselves, which was also the day of the melee championship.

"The damn southern system is so complicated and stupid," Dacey complained, "But mystery knights are allowed in, so we're good to go there." She raised an eyebrow. "Unless we're having second thoughts?"

Was Lyanna? The whole situation with Rhaegar had thrown her for a loop. Ending up as Queen, a whole different sort of cage within the chamber of King Aerys… nothing she had trained for, and there was the presence of Princess Elia. _How did Rhaenys and Visenya handle it?_ _How did Maegor's brides?_ Did they hate each other or saw the others as sisters? Did they get him one day? Did they share him or even each other…? Lyanna blushed at the absurd concept, but it served to highlight what she was getting into. _I may have rejoiced too soon…_

She shook her head. _No, Rhaegar is perfect._ Her Prince Daemon… _But what if he only wants a proper lady as well._ He would be respectful and faithful and loving, of this she had no doubt, but Lyanna didn't think she could handle being forced to reject all she was to be some trophy Queen.

All in all, perhaps kicking the ass of an arrogant Frey goon was the best thing for her. "No, no second thoughts. Let's fuck those cunts up."

Dacey grinned like a hungry bear. "Fuck yeah, and you're gonna love this. Howland finished your sigil."

Lyanna raised an eyebrow. "Nothing too obvious, I hope?"

The crannogman smiled sheepishly. "No, I'm careful." Taking out the shield, it became abundantly clear he had a sense of humor far taller than he could ever be. "Well?"

Taking the shield, Lyanna ran her fingers down the intricate artwork. Howland had went all out. A weirwood tree, trunk thick and roots gnarled beneath. The blood-red leaves sprinkled the entire top of the shield, but such wasn't the distinctive feature. In the center of the trunk was a carved face, but a laughing one. Frozen in a state of mocking amusement.

At her quizzical look, Howland grinned. His still purple and fresh bruises seeming to heal slightly with his joy. "For the lamentations of House Frey when you vanquish them."

Yes, this was exactly what Lyanna needed.

* * *

The tent for House Baratheon - having just been beaten out of the second to last guest chamber in the keep by the Hightowers, Robert graciously allowing Jon Arryn to take the final room - was among the other Stormlands Houses. As such, Ned found himself in unfamiliar territory, brushing past knights that largely gave him the cold shoulder. Mostly he kept to himself, but a rather surly stare from a knight of House Trant found him giving back as good as he got.

Ned was not in the mood to take shit from anyone. Dour and quiet as always, inside burned a white hot flame of rage - one having simmered within him for the last day. _It's not about you, Ned. It's about Lyanna._ He had avoided Jon Arryn, but knew just what the man would tell him about keeping both family and friends. Doing the honorable thing by both. And in spite of his rage that was what he planned to do.

Unlike the other Stormlands lords, the Baratheon retinue was comprised of Robert's own men that had accompanied him to the Vale. Knowing Ned quite well, they let him into the tent without fuss. Inside, Robert was preening over a mounted set of armor. At Ned clearing his throat, the Lord of Storm's End turned around. He grinned broadly. "Ah, Ned! Ya' made it, finally!"

Finding him swept in a big bear hug, Ned coughed and sputtered incoherently. "Robert… yer' crushin' me…"

Robert chuckled and dropped him down. "'Ere, brother, come and have a look see." Gesturing his meaty paws to the set of armor, he smiled proudly. "This was me grandfather's armor. Never lost a tourney in them. Gonna enter the joust and win this one - just as I promised your sister. She'll be my Queen of Love and Beauty."

_Worse than I thought._ Ned shouldn't have been surprised - from what Lyanna said happened, Robert wasn't going to let this go. "It is horrible form to crown a lady betrothed to someone else… especially the future Queen."

"Are you japin' me Ned? You're father's actually going through with it?" Robert regarded him as if he spouted five heads. "The King is my great-uncle, and I know more about him than most thanks to that. This is a flight of fancy on his part." Robert… what is wrong with you? Could being enamored by Lyanna be clouding his sense… or did he have little sense to begin with? "Rhaegar put him up to it, the cunt. I'm gonna make sure he's humiliated before the entire tourney."

"Don't do this, Robert. Don't pressure the King on this. It's done, my father has already authorized the betrothal in exchange for a large bride price and the position of Master of Laws…"

His friend's eyes blazed fury. "You sold that beautiful sun and stars like a piece of meat?! She deserves better!"

Ned's jaw dropped - as if Robert thought he had the moral authority to speak. "Betrothal negotiations for my sister do not involve you, my friend. I know there was talk to betroth Lyanna to you, but my father has formally rescinded the offer upon learning of the King's."

"So you'll let Lyanna be a broodmare slut? Some plaything to be humiliated by the Dornish?"

Taking a deep breath, it took all of Ned's honor and restraint to rein in his temper. "Robert, you are my dear friend. We are like brothers and have been for years, so I'm asking you as your friend and brother, please… please just let this go." The ruddy blue eyes were expressionless. "You are a Lord Paramount. Ladies from the seven Kingdoms will throw themselves at you. I… I…"_ I don't want you to put your whoring paws on my dear sister. She is marrying a good man._

"You what, Ned?" Robert asked him flatly. The wolf of Winterfell hadn't ever seen the stag so… composed. He had always been larger than life.

"Please just leave it alone. My father has already arranged things with the Crown, and we're not going to risk the fury of the Mad King just so you and I can be brothers in name as well as in spirit. I'm sorry it didn't work out, Robert, but please just let it be." Without waiting for Robert to finish, Ned turned and left - not wanting to add to the headache of challenging his best friend for the first time in his life.

Eyes trained on the tent flap, Robert sighed. Stretching his arms and rolling his neck. "Oh Ned, so afraid of the King," he said to no one in particular. "You may be scared, but not Robert Baratheon." _Ours is the Fury._ Lyanna was his - she loved him, not some dragonspawn using his poppa to steal brides for him. To play Maegor and his Black Brides. Picking up the shield, emblazoned with the great stag of House Baratheon… and House Durradon before it… Robert grinned. Imagining how he would crown his beloved as the Queen of Love and Beauty. Shaming the King into giving up this farce.

_I'll protect you, my sweet wolf._

* * *

"For you, your Grace." Setting the cup of spiced wine on the table, still steaming from the kitchens, Jaime smiled as the Queen's eyes widened. Savoring her look of pleased surprise.

Rhaella picked up the hearty drink in her hand, sipping from the brew. A sigh escaped her lips. "Delicious," she moaned happily, a sound that made Jaime thank the gods above he wore an armored codpiece over his crotch. Might have been embarrassing and improper had he not… saved him countless times over the last several months. "What was this for, Ser Jaime?"

He sipped at his own drink. "You looked cold, and I was already heading down for my own drink. What kind of Knight would I be had I allowed a beautiful royal Lady to endure discomfort." He was laying it on a bit thick, but the King was asleep and the glass of wine from dinner emboldened him.

A blush formed on her cheek… due to the wine or Jaime he couldn't tell. He hoped it was the latter. "You didn't have to do that." Her gaze shifted to the fireplace. "A servant would have sufficed."

"Servants are lazy and overrated. When you care if something is to be done quickly," Jaime beamed as Rhaella looked at him, violet eyes sparkling and silver curls running down the bare shoulders of her nightdress - he was desperate to stare into them, running his hands through her hair as he kissed her. "You do it yourself."

_Playing with fire, Jaime._ For some reason his inner voice of caution sounded like Tyrion.

"Well…" Rhaella smiled widely at Jaime, slight tears in her eyes. "Thank you, Ser Jaime. No one really does that for me anymore." _Let alone my husband the King…_

"Anyone who doesn't is a fool," he replied, meaning every word.

Opening her mouth to say something else, the Queen thought better of it. "It's getting late, Ser Jaime. You have my leave to go and rest." Part caring, part dismissive. The wine was starting to get to her and she needed to control her decorum.

Slightly saddened yet knowing deep down it was for the best - there was a line he could never cross with the Queen, even thought gods' knew how much he wanted to - Jaime bowed. "Good night, your Grace. I shall be here on the morrow."

"Night, Ser Jaime," she replied with a brilliant smile. Finishing her wine, she wondered if it caused the butterflies in her stomach. _Yes, it has to be it._ The Queen had long since determined she should be content with what she had. _It's not like you can ever dream…_

Meanwhile, even being dismissed couldn't end Jaime's good mood as he walked down the airy hallways of the great castle. Buzzed and being able to make the quiet, melancholy Queen Rhaella smile was more he could have hoped for. He could just envision his father shaking his head, completely humiliated at how plebeian his golden lion had become, but Jaime didn't care. Tyrion was better suited to the game of thrones than he. All Jaime wanted was a life of love and honor, the dashing knight to be lionized in the songs as Ser Aemon or Ser Duncan.

Jaime's quarters were said to be built for Harren the Black in order to house his elite Ironborn guards. It fit perfectly for the Kingsguards, a simple cot, brazier, and writing desk all that they really needed. Looking forward to a decent sleep after the chaos of the last few days, it took him a moment before realizing there was a feminine figure waiting outside. "Excuse me, lady…" His eyes did a double take. "Cersei?"

Sure enough, there was his sister. Clad in a wrinkled dress and leaning against the wall. As if having waited for a long time to see him. "So I see her Grace saw fit to dismiss you," she said dismissively.

"Do not talk of her like that," Jaime replied firmly. "What do you want?"

"The Lady Lannister cannot come to see her twin brother?"

_After our past…_ not a good idea. They had agreed to part ways long before, it being the best option for the both of them. But in the end, he couldn't deny Cersei's request. "Come into my chambers." Jaime did not want his sworn brothers to listen on his private matters, and no one would think suspiciously of sister and brother speaking for a short while. _At least no one that doesn't truly know us._ Frankly, he figured only Tyrion truly knew, and their younger brother wouldn't say anything.

Cersei sat on the cot, hands on her lap. Jaime took the seat at the far end of it, but turned to her. "Why are you here, Cersei? We could have spoken at any time during the day."

"I wanted to get you alone… no, not like that," she said as he cocked a brow at her, only to sigh deeply. "Alright, part of me wished for that, but after the day I had you'd forgive me for hoping."

There was a time Jaime would have came running if she motioned for him, or would have lost himself in her during a trying period… but not since Rhaella. Not since he found his angel - even if he could never be with her. "Does this have something to do with the Prince's betrothal?" Had he not known better, he could have sworn there were tears in her eyes… wait, there were tears! "Sweet sister." Jaime reached over and pulled her into his arms.

She hated being this weak, but Cersei couldn't help it. "He rejected me, brother. I… I think he's enamored with the Stark bitch."

_Anyone with eyes can see he's enamored with her._ Jaime bit his tongue. "It's a good match, Cersei. Binds the North, Vale, and Riverlands to the Crown. Rhaegar would be a fool not to accept it."

"But I was to be Queen! Father promised me!" Deep down, the lioness knew that it was hopeless. Seeing Rhaegar, hearing him dismiss her, she knew that all chance of being his queen was lost… but part of her still couldn't believe it, and all of her needed to get it out.

"Cersei…" Jaime pulled back, hoping that the brutal truth would end this and let her move on. "The King… he hates father."

She blinked. "Father was his longtime friend and longtime hand. Why would the King hate him? Because father left to manage home?"

And of course she, not being versed in court politics like he or their parents, would buy Tywin Lannister's excuse. "That's not the case. His Grace dismissed him because he feared father was plotting against him."

"Why would he think that?"

"I don't know, Cersei. Maybe he was plotting, maybe the King is delusional. In any case, you'd probably be used as a hostage if you were anywhere close to Rhaegar." He looked her in the eyes. "I see how he treats Princess Elia… how he treats his own wife. I cannot watch and see that happen to you, so please just let the Prince marry Lady Lyanna. Don't dwell on what you can never have." He dwelled on it every day. _You are a hypocrite, Jaime._

Gazing at him, Cersei suddenly surged forward, lips on his. Desperately seeking some form of comfort, a validation after what her father had planned for so long and what she had dreamed for so long collapsing around her.

Jaime pushed her off. "We can't, sister." Truth be told, the thought of any lips on his but the Queen's just made him shudder.

Quiet, Cersei pulled back, not looking at him. "Think it would have been different, Jaime? Had you not left for the Kingsguard?" _Had it not been for…_ But Jaime didn't know about that. No one knew…

Shaking his head, Jaime took her hands in his. "I love you, sister… sometimes in a way that only Targaryens should, but it would have been our downfall."

"How do you know?"

"I know, Cersei. I just do." Being with the Queen sobered his mind. Made him realize many things about himself, about what love and duty meant. "We can never be that way again… and neither can you and the Prince." Realization finally finding her expression, Cersei just fell into his brotherly embrace, Jaime allowing himself to comfort her.

Perhaps they would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They are in love, but just don't know it yet. Still some issues that are keeping them from fully going in.
> 
> Rickard and Benjen are both moving to King's Landing, so Lya won't be alone :D
> 
> Robert... don't even try it.
> 
> Well, RIP Jaime/Cersei. More will be revealed eventually, but fundamentally it had to die. That's half of what caused Cersei to spiral into being irredeemable, the other half being marrying Robert.
> 
> Next up, the Knight of the Laughing Tree.


	10. Knight of the Laughing Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. I know it's been a while, but I bring the Knight of the Laughing Tree!
> 
> Finished my story A Terrible Resolve and my magnum opus Empire of Ice and Fire! Be sure to check them out, as well as my fics Heart of the Blessed and Last Hope For Westeros (on archive of our own).
> 
> Oh, just to say, Aerys is Aegon V's younger son. It goes: Duncan, Rhaelle, Aerys, Rhaella.
> 
> Also, just want to give a shoutout to some new GoT stories that I think are awesome: one's called From the Ashes Begin Anew by bykim0120 - it's an alternate telling of Aegon's Conquest; another is called Wolves of War (on fanfiction.net) by my good friend GulfYankee23 that's a post season 8 ressurection/reconciliation fic; one is a unique spin on the post-season 8 time travel to fix the past plotline (hint, it isn't Jon or Dany going back) called Howl of the Dragonwolves by my other good friend Elphaba818; and the other is a season 8 fix-it called The Kingdom of Ice and Fire (on fanfiction.net) by my other good friend WhiteWolf04, starts off slow but I have assurances the plot will be awesome. All are really, really good! Check them out :D
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

Ser Oswell trailing behind him, the King of the Seven Kingdoms turned the corner of the guest wing of Harrenhal's central keep… only to find yet another empty hallway. "Seven fucking hells," Aerys muttered under his breath. He had been here many times over his entire life and still ended up lost more than half of the time. "You grew up here, Ser Oswell. Don't you think my illustrious ancestor the conqueror should have burned this wretched shithole to the ground?"

"The will of the dragon is never wrong, your Grace," replied the Kingsguard, hand patting the hilt of his sword.

Aerys grinned at the answer, turning yet another corner to finally find what he was looking for. "Ah, Ser Jaime!" Idly standing in front of the door of a particular chamber, eyes glancing at the rather sunny day outside in preparation for the newcomer's joust, the call from his King sent him ramrod straight. An ability that Aerys never stopped enjoying since becoming King after his fool of a father bit the dust. "Is she inside?"

Jaime bowed. "Yes, your Grace." His voice was formal but completely different - there was little else he could be to the King who could grace the bed of the woman he adored, and yet didn't. "Preparing for the day ahead."

"Ah, good." He raised his eyebrow. "You plan to compete in the melee, today, yes?" Jaime nodded. "I wish you luck, Ser Jaime." Still grinning, he saw Ser Oswell get in position on the other side of the door as he entered…

Running right into one of his wife's ladies in waiting. "Oh…" Her eyes widened almost immediately. "Your Grace." The girl fell to her knees.

The King rolled his eyes. "Get up, girl! I wish to be alone with my Queen." It was barely three seconds before the young highborn girl - from some house in the Stormlands or another - to flee. Chuckling, Aerys looked upon his wife sitting at her vanity table. "Rhaella."

"My King." Rhaella didn't bother to rise. Seeing him in her mirror, he seemed… in a good mood. "She was helping me get ready for the tourney."

"Oh? Bothered by your royal husband?" Stepping till he towered above her slight frame, Rhaella was reminded of the brooding but handsome older brother she married twenty-two years before. "Your hair is better in simple styles."

She felt his fingers weaving through her locks, each moving purposefully. "You haven't fixed my hair in years, husband."

He scoffed. "It's like riding a horse. You never forget." Their mother, the beloved Queen Betha Blackwood, had made sure the teenage Aerys stayed close to Rhaella after their elder brother spurned the Baratheon daughter in favor of Lady Jenny. One of the ways they had bonded was him plaiting her hair in the simple style he preferred, which had been a wonderful prelude to the day until the growing split between Aerys and Tywin began to affect him. "The betrothal negotiations were done well. Got the Stark daughter for a cheap price."

Rhaella sighed. His hands felt as wonderful as they did long ago - but Aerys was a far different man. "Lord Stark would make a good Master of Laws - and Rhaegar seems taken by his new bride." With few to confide in, he had told his mother everything. She was happy for him… overjoyed in fact.

"Rhaegar with her and the Dornish bitch, Viserys with the Tyrell brat, I'll finally manage to rebuild House Targaryen from the hole our father and brother dug it into." His words were vicious, but his hands were still gentle. "He may have been an idiot at the end, but at least father knew to marry us for the benefit of our House."

Smug and proud of himself, Rhaella could still hear a wistful sadness in his voice. "I know you never wished to marry me, husband. You preferred Joanna Lannister."

Imagining the beautiful Lady of the Westerlands, his first love and first passion… Aerys shook his head. "That was a long time ago. Our father made his decision, and it ended up the right choice." Love mattered not. _Only strength and power._ "Done." He pulled back, proud of his work. "You look beautiful, sister."

It wasn't a lie, she was breathtaking. Rhaella wished Aerys would look at her with love and not smugness, though. "Shall you join me to break our fast, husband?"

"No, I'll be down in a moment. Go on." Aerys felt Rhaella reach out and squeeze his hand affectionately, grateful for the almost loving, domestic moment between them. Even as she left, the feel of her touch lingered on his palm.

_"She was always the sweetest of us, don't you think?"_

Aerys' eyes widened, flying open in shock and anger. "You have no right to speak of her," he shot back, seeing the vision of the man long dead leaning against the windowsill. "You have no right even to speak to me from what you did!"

Duncan Targaryen chuckled as he pushed himself off the windowsill. _"Oh brother, always so bitter."_ The mocking voice he always used to his baby brother made Aerys want to take a sword and run it through the pure Riverman features of the Dragonfly Prince. _"You are King, the father of the future of our House, and yet you still seem to act as if the man who renounced his birthright is superior to you."_

"You have no authority! No authority to judge me, Dunk!" Even though Ser Oswell and any other servant outside could hear him, no one bothered the King's ranting. "You betrayed our family for some whore! A commoner, witch, whore that was unable to even bear you children. I have two and one of them is about to bear plenty of sons - little dragons that will fix what you destroyed you little shit!" Spittle was flying from the King's mouth by the end.

The smile on the Dragonfly Prince's face didn't falter. _"You were always the stupidest among us, brother. My only regret was that I left you the heir to father, but do not worry. Your stupidity will be your undoing."_

Aerys blinked. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

_"The sigil of High Heart,"_ Duncan began, stepping around his trembling brother. _"The one that regards you just as I do, as strong to your son as Jenny was to I… no matter what you hope to do…"_ Aerys shut his eyes, willing for Duncan to journey down to the Seven Hells where he belonged. _"This sigil will be your undoing, Mad King."_

"Shut it!"

_"Mad King, Mad King, Mad King!"_

"SHUT IT!" Drawing a knife from the folds of his robes, Aerys stabbed at the form of his brother only to find nothing there. Just himself, alone in his Queen's chambers screaming into the void.

* * *

That morning, Lyanna woke to find both Ned and Brandon having disappeared from their tent, off to the dueling field without her - while a curse tumbled from her lips at their seemingly disrespectful attitude, the rational part of her said they were likely trying to pay their respects to Lord Hoster Tully. Petyr Baelish was his ward and it was Lady Catelyn that they were dueling over. With a sigh, she had dressed and found Dacey. Hoping that they didn't miss the action - not that she wanted to see Brandon cut down the scrawny pig with ease.

Sure enough, Hoster Tully was huddled with Brandon and Ned, the former's shoulder being clasped by the hand of the Lord of Riverrun. What surprised Lyanna was the presence of her betrothed. Fully dressed in a black doublet and red-striped trousers, red cape billowing behind him. Silver locks splayed over his shoulders, Rhaegar looked like the perfect mirror of Prince Daemon.

Having completed her undressing of Rhaegar with her eyes - not that the she-wolf couldn't spend hours admiring the perfect form of her betrothed - Lyanna turned to find Dacey completely silent. Gaze clouded over as she stared at the party of highborns. "You alright?" No answer. "Dacey… Dacey!" She shook her shoulder.

"Huh…" Shaking the dazed gaze from her face, Dacey blinked, turning to Lyanna. "Who's that over there?"

"I'm sure you recognize my betrothed, Prince Rhaegar," Lyanna teased.

The she-bear huffed. "I know who Rheagar is, Lya. I meant, who is that statuesque example of masculinity standing behind him?"

Furrowing her brows, she glanced back at the Prince and followed the line of sight to the armored figure behind him. Helmet held to the side and the other arm planted on the hilt of the famous longsword. "Oh, that's Ser Arthur Dayne. The Prince's Kingsguard." Lyanna hadn't met him formally, but Ser Arthur was famous from Sunspear to Castle Black. The twin blades were instantly recognizable.

Apparently, Bear Island seemed to be a bit isolated from the rest of Westeros. "Never heard of him, though I wish I had." Dacey's gaze was quite hungry as it appreciated the form of Ser Arthur.

Lyanna knew that gaze anywhere and grinned. "The greatest swordsman in Westeros according to most people. They call him the Sword of the Morning for his blade Dawn."

"Mmmm, I know a place he can put his sword if I have anything to say about it," Dacey licked her lips, causing Lyanna to roll her eyes. _I bet Princess Elia doesn't have ladies in waiting this crude._ Her thoughts were then thrown into disarray when Rhaegar looked at her. Heart skipping a beat from the passionate glint in his violet eyes.

Eyes finally falling on Lyanna, the Crown Prince immediately excused his conversation with Lord Tully to walk to her. A genuine smile teasing his oft brooding face. "My dear Lady Lyanna," he husked, taking her hand and bringing it to his mouth. Kissing the milky skin.

Blushing hotly, Lyanna nevertheless curtsied. "Prince Rhaegar." The effect he had on her was only amplified by their closeness. "It heartens me to see you again… even minding the circumstance."

Rhaegar frowned. "Some men wouldn't mind seeing your brother slaughter a man with more googly eyes than sense, but I'm not one of those men. Neither are either of your brothers, I don't think." For the first time since he made acquaintances with House Stark, Rhaegar saw Brandon as just as brooding as Ned, the young heir offering his apologies to Lord Tully. "Perhaps as the Crown Prince, I can referee the situation before it gets out of hand."

"I don't much care for Petyr Baelish, but I do care for my future goodsister and apparently that worm means a lot to her."

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm still a bit confused as to why the Tullys were picked for your brother. They are devout members of the Faith and… I'm not sure they'd be suited for the North. Wouldn't the Blackwoods have been better? They still believe in the Old Gods."

That was a good question. Ever dutiful, ever formal and pious, the Lady Catelyn did indeed seem a bad fit for being the Wardeness of the North. But… "My Bran needs someone devoted to him to settle him down. I think Lady Catelyn is perfect in that regard." If Rhaegar seemed skeptical, he didn't show it. Seemingly trusting her judgement. Yet another reason she was falling so deeply for him, even if there was that small reservation regarding her more wild nature. Willing it aside, Lyanna looked at the man that had gradually stood behind Rhaegar. "Now now, my Prince. You have been quite rude… not introducing me to the Sword of the Morning."

"Oh that." The Prince laughed. "Well, my dear. This is Ser Arthur Dayne."

Lyanna stepped forward and shook Arthur's hand. "Your reputation precedes you, Ser Arthur. Forgive me if I'm a little starstruck."

"My sigil is that of a falling star, after all," Arthur replied with a small grin. Lyanna decided at that moment she liked him. "I have heard a lot about you from his Grace - he is correct that you light up whatever space you find yourself in." An eye shifted behind the she-wolf. "And who is this beautiful lady behind you?" His green eyes glinted.

Blinking, Dacey approached at the attention of the Sword of the Morning. "Greetings, Ser Arthur. I am unattached…" Her eyes widened in realization. "I mean, I'm a maiden…" She hadn't said more than two sentences to Arthur before she wished to crawl into a hole and die out of embarrassment.

Lyanna hid her amusement. "This is Lady Dacey Mormont of Bear Island. My Lady in Waiting." Luckily for Dacey's sanity, her introduction guided them back into a decent rhythm. "She couldn't be more obvious," Lyanna whispered to Rhaegar.

"Arthur doesn't really go after ladies like Oswell or Gerold, so it's good to see him loosening up." His eyes shifted. "Although if one wants obvious, look over there." Following his line of sight, Lyanna spotted Littlefinger striding determinedly into the field, guided by Ser Brynden Tully and with the two Tully ladies following behind. He turned to speak to Catelyn, but she didn't spare him a glance, instead rushing to Brandon and embracing him. Hurt flashed on Baelish's face before it fell behind into anger. "Well, I should get this over with. Better stand with your brothers, my Lady."

While Lyanna wanted to stay beside him - stay beneath him sans clothes, if she was being honest - she nevertheless complied. Leaning up to kiss his cheek. Lips sparking with warmth as she moved back to where her brother was standing. "Once again, I'm sorry about this," she heard Brandon tell the Lord of Riverrun, arm wrapped around Catelyn's waist. "I regret that this must happen."

Hoster Tully - an older man who's once-red hair was now mostly grey, having aged worse than his younger brother - gave the Starks a weak smile. "You have no need to apologize, Brandon. I should have seen this coming and sent young Petyr back home sooner. My brother is giving him his advice, but it is nothing personal to you, I promise."

"Have to follow all the bases," nodded Brandon.

"The Crown Prince officiating helps. I'm just glad we managed to keep this under wraps for the most part." A sigh. "Good luck, my future goodson." Lord Tully left them to take Rhaegar's side.

"Finish this quickly, Bran." Lyanna knew she had limited time before Dacey and Howland - who had accompanied Ned and Brandon - needed to set her up for the newcomer's joust. While excited, it wasn't only Rhaegar's presence that made her heart beat nervously. Calm, stay calm. She was a far better rider than any of those cunts. "You're a far better fighter than that insect."

Catelyn had a different take. "Petyr asked me for my favor, Bran, but I couldn't give it to him." Lysa had absolutely begged for him to wear hers, and at the last minute he had accepted. "I love you," she said, handing Brandon a small strip of cloth for him to tie around his wrist. "But please don't kill him."

Lyanna rolled her eyes. "The world would be better off without him creeping around it."

"Please, don't! Spare him, please. He may be an idiot here but he's like a brother to me."

"With a lot of unbrotherly feelings," Brandon quipped, only to sigh at Catelyn's wide eyes. "Fine. I'll spare him." While Lyanna and Ned shared a disapproving look - both just… having a bad feeling about Petyr Baelish - one couldn't really argue when Catelyn smiled widely and kissed Brandon passionately on the lips. Brandon accepted, enjoying the death glare from his opponent.

Rhaegar called the duel to order, and both parties moved into position. Baelish's inexperience showed when he charged at Brandon. Sword high and swing wild. The Stark heir may have been impulsive but he was a well-trained fighter, easily sidestepping the initial attack on agile feet. Avoiding going on the attack even when in the open. _Having fun with this, Bran?_ The next two swings by Littlefinger were parried effortlessly, the clash of steel upon steel as Brandon gave ground. Letting his opponent tire himself out.

Baelish's lack of skill took its toll, sweat covering his brow and furious movements slackening. Sensing an opportunity, Brandon smacked Littlefinger's blade aside, fist flying to slam into his nose. Lysa screamed and Catelyn pursed her lips, Baelish falling to the ground. "Yield," Brandon commanded, hoping the runt would get the hint. He didn't, leaping to his feet and charging Brandon. A slash against his front - shallow but bloody - knocked the sword aside. The heir to Winterfell dropped his own sword and knelt by his foe, slamming his fist over and over into his challenger. Blood splattering and ribs cracking. "Yield, you fool!" This time, the command was obeyed.

Fight over, Catelyn raced to inspect Brandon while Lysa and Brynden did the same for Littlefinger. The former showed off his victory by lifting his betrothed in his arms while the latter was carried off the field moaning and groaning, the Prince insisting that he see a maester for his injuries. Satisfied that her brother's marriage was secure, Lyanna met eyes with Dacey and Howland before brushing her hand against her forehead, knees buckling as she fell to the ground.

While Ned and Brandon were up on their feet to rush to her side, it was Rhaegar that got there first. Catching Lyanna mid fall rather adeptly. "My Lady… are you well?" He gently cradled her waist and head, easing her to the ground. "Should I fetch a maester?"

Lyanna fought the flush creeping upon her body. How Rhaegar's fingers and palms spread a tingling electricity wherever upon her body where he touched - even through her clothes. "No… no…" she murmured. "I'm fine, just a little light headed." Once confident in her story, just his presence was disconcerting her. "I… I haven't been eating much lately."

"Shock to me," Brandon quipped once he determined she was fine, wrapping an arm around Catelyn's waist. Enjoying the spoils of his victory. "You usually devour a wheelhouse's worth of food."

"Shut up," Lyanna snapped. "I don't need a maester, Rhaegar. I promise." She smiled, hoping it would melt him - it did from the longing glint in his eyes.

Having smacked Brandon about the head - the heir to Winterfell rubbing the back of it with a glare - Ned knelt by Lyanna. "Still, I think you should head back to your tent. Skip the melee and the newcomer's joust, get some rest and then eat more at tonight's feast."

Normally, she'd punch Ned in the stomach and announce she could fight any one of them, but this was what she was hoping for. Suppressing the inner whoop… though the pleading on Rhaegar's expression could have probably convinced her all on its own. "Alright, brother."

"Do you want me to escort you?" Rhaegar asked, helping her up.

Before Lyanna's desire to be close to him could kick in, Dacey and Howland rushed to her side. "Don't worry, your Grace. We'll take care of this, you and Ser Arthur are needed at the royal box with the King and Queen." She shot the Kingsguard a sultry smile, one that Arthur replied with a wink. Grinning, Dacey turned back to Lyanna. "Let's go, sleepyhead."

As they turned the corner, they pushed Lyanna off them. "That was close," Howland whispered.

"Only close cause Lya wanted to just rip the Prince's clothes off where he stood."

Lyanna glared at Dacey. "Don't make me find another Lady in Waiting. There are plenty of southern ladies who would jump at the chance." A raised eyebrow from the Mormont beauty killed that theory. "Fine, fine. Let's get set up before the melee ends." This was going to be fun.

* * *

Taking his seat next to his brother and father, Ned leaned in to where Jon Arryn sat ahead of him in the royal box. "Did I miss anything?"

Lord Arryn shook his head. "No, melee is just about to start."

The Lords Paramount and other guests of the Crown were seated to either side of the King and his family. While the royals had only one row of four seats, the others were divided into two rows. To the left of Prince Viserys were the Tyrells and Baratheons - Robert getting glares from Brandon and Ned but too drunk to notice. To the right of the King himself were the Starks, Lord Arryn, Hoster Tully, and an empty seat. "Who's sitting there?" The seat was right in front of Ned.

"She's coming right now," Brandon answered, pointing to a female figure that made Ned's eyes widen.

Representing House Lannister in the absence of Lord Tywin, the beautiful Cersei Lannister held her head up high as she moved to take her seat. While she considered skipping the event after her encounter with Rhaegar and talk with Jaime, the presence of her brother in the melee kept her from doing it even if she wanted to. "Well, either Tywin spruced himself up or he sent a damn woman in his stead." Several lords laughed at the King's jape, while Cersei just bowed to his Grace and tried to ignore it - missing the lustful, appreciative eyes of Ned Stark as well.

Rising along with his mother, little brother, and father, Rhaegar clasped a clenched fist against his chest. "We, royals of the House of Dragons, salute you brave warriors today on this field of honor."

The knights on the field repeated the gesture. "We, men of honor gathered today in a test of strength and skill, salute our King, Queen, and Princes for this day and all days to come." Bearing their armored hands against the plate or mail draping their chests, each took a fighting stance as the royals resumed their seats.

Each qualifying round the previous days of the tourney were single combat under heavy rules, but the final match was in the style of Old Valyria- a free for all pitting fourteen of the best fighters in the Seven Kingdoms against one another till a single victor emerged. Each of them clutched dulled practice swords, one of the few positive things to come from King Aenys the Weak - Aegon IV allowed fights to the death with real weapons as the Ghiscari did, going further, but all were repealed by his son Daeron II. Rhaegar, watching his father's bored expression, had a feeling that Aerys II would have brought the Unworthy's rule back had he not been apathetic about the whole thing. "Honored knights… may the best win." With a wave of his hand he signalled the start of the melee.

Over half an hour of steel clashing against steel… blades against the thick wood of shields, some revelled in it while others developed pounding headaches. The crowds shouted for the victory of their favorites and the blood of the disliked - which often changed on a whim based on whomever was coming out on top or made an excellent move. Referees darted back and forth, avoiding the swings and calling strikes and rule violations.

"Lord Umber is doing well," commented Jon Arryn, leaning back in his chair.

Rickard nodded. "Burly like a bear, that's why they call him the Greatjon." Five pairs of eyes watched the massive Lord of Last Hearth rip a shield from the hands of a hedge knight of the Reach, punching him right in the stomach - it didn't faze the northerner, grinning like mad while the referee called the knight knocked out. "Less skilled than… tenacious."

"Much like the Greyjoy." Lo and behold, Victarion Greyjoy was also doing quite well. Simply ramming bullheadedly into his competitors, able to withstand blows to him that would crumple lesser men. Hoster frowned. "I really don't want that family to win - Greatjon seems like he could take him."

"Or Ser Jaime," commented Ned. The Lion of Lannister - as he was called by many - was currently engaging Greatjon. The second Stark son wasn't as much watching the Kingsguard, but the blonde beauty he was eying certainly was. Lips pursed worriedly as she watched her brother spar. Letting out a relieved breath when Jaime dodged a downward slice from the Lord of Last Hearth to stab right into his stomach. With a curse, Greatjon was waved off by the referee and stomped off the field - leaving Jaime and Victarion as the only ones left.

Leering at the smaller Ser Jaime, fighting without a helmet and not a strand of his perfect blonde hair out of place, Victarion Greyjoy simply charged. Muscles catapulting his sword to bat Jaime's strike to the left. The brother of the Lord of the Iron Islands crashing right into Jaime, knocking him to the ground. Cersei gasped audibly, while Queen Rhaella silently gripped the arm of her chair ever tighter. "The Iron Way in action," quipped Jon Arryn, crossing his arms and enjoying the show.

Rhaegar's eyes flickered from the prone Ser Jaime to his mother, quiet but with a worried glaze frozen on her face. Gently, he placed his hand on hers, comforting her when his father wouldn't. "Get up, lion!" Viserys yelled, voice high and jumping in his chair. "Fight the Kraken." The two royals laughed at the young prince, easing the tension.

Eyes locking with the Queen's, Jaime sucked in a breath and twisted around - just missing the downward chop that nearly took him out of action. "No head blows!" the referee bellowed. Victarion shoved him off, lunging for Jaime again. The Lion of Lannister had leapt to his feet and twirled his sword. Steel clashing against steel, Jaime's moves quick and fluid against the pure brawn of the Ironborn.

Whimpering as a blow caught Jaime's shoulder, the knight crying out in pain but scrambling back, Cersei could hear the King's smug laughter as she looked away. Unable to see her twin hurt. "Lady Cersei…" She looked up to see the Stark… Lord Eddard, pointing. "Don't worry, the Ironborn is tiring." Blinking, Cersei swiveled back to the fight.

Ned was absolutely correct - a fact that gave Cersei much relief. Sweat poured from Victarion's brow. The great reaver panting as he continued to swing. Darting and spinning, quick on his feet, Jaime parried a strike. Longsword spinning around and smacking Victarion's hand. Howling in pain, the Ironborn dropped his blade… finding Jaime's pressed onto his neck. "Yield," ordered the Kingsguard.

Anger burning within, Victarion nevertheless had no choice. "Yield."

Smiling triumphantly, Jaime turned to the royal box and bowed as the herald dubbed him the winner of the melee, presenting him with a crown of oak leaves. Up out of their seats were the royal family, the strongest claps coming from both the Queen and Prince Rhaegar. The crowd chanted for the Kingsguard, clearly the favorite of the day. "Lannister! Lannister! Lannister!"

Clapping with a genuine smile, watching as Cersei hugged her brother, Ned sat down. "That was a good fight."

"It was, young Eddard," Jon Arryn replied, not unknowing of the lad's wandering eye. "But that'll probably be the highlight of the day."

"Don't think the newcomer's joust will be interesting?" Brandon asked.

He snorted. "About as interesting as watching a bucket of piss."

Unfortunately, Lord Arryn's foresight proved true. The newcomer's joust was filled with green riders - and green was an understatement. Most were unhorsed by sloppy maneuvers, with one tilt even finding both riders falling from their mounts before either's lances made contact. The King died of laughter the entire time, while for the rest it got old quickly. "Please kill me," Brandon whispered to his brother. "I'd have let Littlefinger run me through with his sword if this was gonna be the rest of my day."

"Stop being dramatic, brother. I'm sure it'll get interesting," Ned replied. He opened his mouth to continue only for the herald to announce the next tilt - a mystery knight who had come to challenge the next three scheduled riders. Ned's brow rose. "Knight of the Laughing Tree? What Kind of a name is that?"

Lord Arryn's brows furrowed. "Never heard of a hedge knight of that name? Hoster?" Lord Tully shook his head. "Mace?" Half stuffing a pastry into his mouth, crumbs fell onto his green doublet as Lord Tyrell mumbled something in the negative. "Has a knight of that name graced Casterly Rock, Lady Cersei?"

After her brother was off the field, Cersei had zoned out. "Sorry, Lord Arryn… I haven't seen such a knight in the Westerlands."

Nodding, Lord Arryn leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin. "Mystery knights are generally rare… could be a dud, could be just some fool trying to impress a maiden." At that point the knight entered the field, riding a rather drab palfrey. His armor hung over his likely slight frame as if it were a size too large, with a plain helmet etched with scrapes. The most distinctive item was the shield, however - splayed over the wood was a weirwood tree. One with a laughing instead of a wailing face etched on its side. "On the other hand this could get interesting."

The knight took his position, waiting for Ser Boros Blount and his porcupine sigiled shield. Already sporting plenty of fat beneath his armor, it didn't take long for the resulting tilt to send him flying off his horse. From how he gracefully brought his mount around, the crowd began to cheer for the Knight of the Laughing Tree. Rhaegar's interest was piqued, as was the King's to his right.

Next was the rather poor armor of House Haigh, pickings slim from picking up the scraps that Walder Frey let them have. While some knights were skilled and strong in spite of their meagre reserves, the Pitchfork Knight wasn't. The Knight of the Laughing Tree felling him with a perfect blow to the center-left of the shield. Earning a more roaring approval from the crowd. They recognized skill where it came from.

"Well, finally someone with panache," Brandon commented, grinning. "Let's go, mystery knight!" He clapped his hands together three times for good effect.

Jon Arryn chuckled. "Whomever he is, he has skill." The Lord of the Eyrie crossed his arms. "But Boros Blount and whatever yokel Frey vassal he just unhorsed aren't the paragons of knightly power. The Freys may not be… noble, but I heard Ser Waldron has been training for this."

"I heard him bragging about how he's going to unhorse the Crown Prince," said Hoster Tully, the five of them glancing to the aforementioned Prince Rhaegar before bursting into laughter. "Practically impossible, but that training should be enough to take down most newcomers. I pity anyone that gets in the way of when a Frey actually is determined at something."

Ned pursed his lips, watching the Knight of the Laughing Tree obtain a new lance from the servants. Not even wealthy enough to afford hiring a squire… this was his kind of knight. "I don't know… I have a good feeling about this one, Lord Tully. Lord Arryn." The Lord of Riverrun didn't reply while Jon Arryn smirked.

Finally Ser Waldron Frey arrived, surrounded by Frey bannermen in new, gleaming uniforms. His armor was shined to perfection, two squires - clearly his younger brothers - having worked day and night to keep the equipment spotless. He looked like a Tyrell or a Lannister at that moment, gaudy and bedecked in splendor. While the actually wealthy noble houses could pull it off, on Ser Waldron it just looked tacky… especially as he preened and waved for the lukewarm crowd. Off to the side, the Knight of the Laughing Tree just waited patiently atop his horse.

The wait grew long, tempers chafing as Ser Waldron began blowing kisses to the smallfolk maidens. "Bloody hells!" bellowed Robert, a horn of ale in hand. "Start the damn joust before I piss mi'self!" Eying the handsome, well-built Lord Paramount make a drunken fool of himself, the three Starks cursed themselves for even considering him as a proper match for Lyanna - Ned especially, even though he was still his friend.

One person not embarrassed by the display was the King, who laughed. "Quite true, dear nephew," he said, voice syrupy sweet. "Start the fucking joust! Your King commands it!" Even the self-centered boor Waldron Frey couldn't ignore a command from his King, so he reluctantly broke off from his preening to form up at the north end of the field.

Taking his lance from his younger brother, Waldron Frey sneered at the Weirwood Knight. "Mismatched armor, no squire, pfft," he insulted. "You're not even a proper hedge Knight. You may have defeated the two oafs, but the heir to the twin crossings will wipe the floor with your blood!" A smattering of cheers and boos followed from the crowd.

The Weirwood Knight cocked his helmeted head. "Two?" Came the muffled voice.

At the insinuation that Ser Waldron was also an oaf, the entire crown laughed and cheered, Brandon nearly fell out of his seat while even the dour Ned cracked a smirk. "I like him," Rhaella whispered to her son."

Rhaegar nodded, peering curiously at the ill-fitting armor and worn helmet of the mystery knight. "Yes, _muna_. I like him as well."

"It's too cold, can this finish?" Young Viserys complained, fidgeting in his seat.

"You heard my son," the King barked, raising a hand. "Let it begin!"

At the sound of the horn the two contestants cracked their reins and sent their horses galloping headlong at each other. The gaudy Riverlands-style helm facing against the generic plain one as the lances both crashed on the other's shields. Rhaegar watched with baited breath as the tilt ended in a draw, both riders jostled but remaining atop their mounts, steeds slowing into a gentle trot to wait on the opposite sides of where they started.

Waldron Frey raised his visor to stare murderously at the mystery knight. "Playtime is over you little cunt," he screeched.

Within the royal box, Brandon couldn't help himself but to heckle. "You're actually calling him a cunt, Frey?"

The knight flushed red. "Who said that?!"

"I did! Brandon Stark," the heir to Winterfell boasted before Rickard kicked him inconspicuously.

"I'll remember that name," Waldron hissed back.

The King was giggling the whole time, enjoying this immensely. Rhaegar, however, wished to spare his future goodbrother any further embarrassment. "Your Grace… perhaps we should continue with the joust?"

"What? Oh… right. On with the damn joust!"

Horn blowing, the horses stampeded towards each other again. Clumps of mud and dirt kicked up by their hooves. Ser Waldron smirked as he lowered his lance, ready to smash it right into the Weirwood Knight's breastplate… only for the knight to shift right atop the saddle just at the right moment. The Frey's lance glanced off the knight's shoulderplate - Ser Waldron wasn't so lucky, lance shattering against his shield as he tumbled off his horse, rolling onto the ground until he laid there with pained groans. Bruised and worn, unable to rise until his squires raced over to help him up.

There was a stilled silence before the crowd started to cheer for the Knight of the Laughing Tree. Including most of the Lords atop the royal box, Robert laughing uproariously at the good show while even Ned and Jon Arryn chuckled as they clapped. "Now that was a good one," Rhaegar whispered to his mother as they watched the knight approach on his mount.

He bowed to the King, and then to Rhaegar. "I serve House Targaryen with my life," came the gravelly voice.

"Congratulations for your victory in this newcomer's tourney," Rhaegar announced to both the knight and the crowd, standing. "As with your right to seek the ransom for the armor and mounts of the knights of House Frey, House Blount, and House Haigh, for your courage and skill on this my nameday, you shall have a place in the grand joust tomorrow."

But the knight merely held up an armored hand. "That will not be necessary, my Prince. I do not intend to compete tomorrow." He tilted his head towards the two defeated knights - Ser Waldron carried, moaning, off the field. "Teach your squires honor, and that shall be payment enough!" They both hung their heads in shame.

As the knight began to turn his horse away, the King bellowed. "Wait! You dare refuse the honor my son bestowed upon you?" His tone was irritated, but also curious. Violet eyes peering at the knight.

"I do not wish to compete, for I cannot face the Prince." The way he said the last title - almost with… affection - it caused Rhaegar to blink. He had heard this voice before. "My honor commands me not to fight him." And before the King could say another word, the Knight of the Laughing Tree turned his horse around and galloped off into the distance to the wild cheers of the crowd.

The Lords of the royal box just sat in a stunned silence… one that Robert Baratheon broke. "Damn, that bastard's got style!" He slapped his knee. "I'll unmask him and buy him a mug!"

But Rhaegar ignored the boorish Stag, instead concentrating on his father. On how his eyes suddenly sparkled, confusion changing into a hardened look - one of anger. _Oh fuck_. This was not going to end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? Did I deliver on this awesome moment?
> 
> I know a lot of people wanted Lyanna to unmask herself after beating Robert... but given Aerys' madness and the history of it (that scene was very fun to write) he was never not going to call for her death. Stay tuned on that ;)
> 
> Baelish gets his ass kicked as usual, and his humiliation is seen by all.
> 
> So Dacey has a crush on Arthur - not shocked, lol. And Lyanna... sure... Elia doesn't have an insufferable lady in waiting ;D
> 
> Next up, Rhaegar discovers the Mystery Knight. If I can get 40 comments, I'll update on Friday :D


	11. Chains Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! The support for this story is so awesome!
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

"I WANT HIS HEAD!"

Kingsguards standing at attention around the solar of the royal quarters, Rhaegar tried his best to hide his nerves. Stilling his trembling leg. "Father, I think…"

Interrupting his pacing and ranting to cast a murderous glare at his son, Aerys gestured madly. "Am I some simple smallfolk turd shoveller? You are to address me with the proper respect, sweet son," he spat.

Rhaegar lowered his head, properly chastised. "Yes, your Grace."

Mollified, if only slightly, the King wheeled around to Lord Commander Hightower. "Ser Gerold. You and your men combed the entire castle and campsite did you not?"

"We have, my King. No sign of the Knight of the Laughing Tree. It appears as if he had disappeared into thin air." Gerold didn't lie - he and the Household Guard of both House Targaryen and House Whent had searched high and low for the mystery knight. While he would have followed Rhaegar's secret directive and let the poor man flee, but they didn't even find him. "Forgive me for my failure."

Instead of rip into Gerold as he would normally have done, Aerys resumed his frantic ranting. "Dunk told me, that malevolent piece of shit!" The Crown Prince and the Queen shared a look as the King's back was turned. Imagining Prince Duncan Targaryen once again - Aerys' favorite vision in a manner of speaking. "I have to find this cutthroat cunt. Ser Oswell… you spoke to the Freys and the Blounts?" House Haigh was too tiny to even warrant the King's disgust, let alone attention.

Oswell cleared his throat. "They spoke of their squires being in a scuffle with some Crannogman Lord and his 'whore,' but…"

"Bah! A woman and a swamp homunculus," Aerys waved dismissively. "My royal ass they were responsible!" He rested his hands on a table, hunched over in despair. "Duncan! Why can't you leave me be!" wailed the King.

Rhaella stepped forward, gently clasping her husband's arm. Hoping that the kind Aerys from before was still somewhere there. "Your Grace, calm down. Perhaps we should simply have a private meal in our chambers and relax ahead of our son competing tomorrow…"

The Queen suddenly pitched back, falling upon the ground after Aerys slapped her hard about the cheek. "Do not tell me to calm down, weak woman!" he thundered, spittle flying from his breath. The Kingsguards watched in horror, but were unable to intervene. Much as they wished to protect their Queen - especially the terrified and enraged Jaime Lannister, fists clenching around the hilt of his sword as his beloved Rhaella collapsed - their oaths were sworn to the King and the King only. "The knight must die! He works for Tywin and the Doom, I just know it!"

Anger boiling even hotter than Ser Jaime's, Rhaegar also couldn't intervene. "If I may, your Grace," he began evenly, hoping to distract his father from his mother. "I can lead a party into the woods around Harrenhal. Find this scoundrel before he truly escapes the King's Justice."

Their violet eyes staring at each other, Aerys considered his son's offer. "Alright," he finally said, ignoring his wife as she cupped her smarting cheek. "Take the Kingsguards and do it. Bring me the bastard's head." With that, he stormed off into his bedchamber, slamming the ironwood door behind him.

In an instant, Rhaegar - and Ser Jaime - had fallen to their knees by Queen Rhaella. "Muna," the Prince said softly, taking her hand in his.

Fighting back tears, Rhaella shifted upright as Jaime pulled her hand away, inspecting the palmprint of the 'King's Justice' on her face. "It hurts, but I'll be alright," she stated. "I've had worse from your father."

"His Grace should treat you as you deserve to be treated," Jaime said with fire in his youthful voice. Both Rhaegar and Ser Barristan wanted to cuff him on the head - what he said was absolutely correct, but not at all smart.

"Calm yourself, Ser Jaime." Rhaella leaned on the two men to stand, smoothing out her dress. "I shall make my leave. Good luck, my wonderful son." Kissing his cheek, the Queen made her way out, followed by Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan.

Sighing, Rhaegar pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, my Prince?" Arthur asked, a worried look on his face.

He had since Ser Oswell gave his report to the King. "It can't be. She's ill in her tent, and the knight was clearly a man." Arthur nodded, but the agreement didn't reach his eyes.

* * *

Removing the kettle of spiced cider from above the crackling fire, Ned gently poured two cups for his brother and soon to be goodsister. Handing each of the steaming brews to them before pouring one for himself. "This is a traditional Northern drink for the winter climes. Granted, those who don't have glass gardens to grow the southern apples rely on hartier northern varieties. Stronger, not as sublime."

"Easy Ned," boomed Brandon, grinning. "The lady doesn't want to fall asleep listening to you prattle on about apples." Lyanna would have probably thrown an apple core at him, but Ned merely cast him a cross glare. Which his brother found hilarious. "Still, dear Catelyn. He's right about the drink. Gets us through many winters."

Used to the many varieties of wine favored among Andal-based cultures, Catelyn nevertheless sipped at the brew. Wrinkling her nose. "Sweet… but with a kick."

"That's how you know it works!" Gulping down a mouthful of the cider, Brandon didn't notice how his betrothed set the cup down after barely drinking it. Ned noticed and said nothing. It wasn't his place. "Can you believe the Mystery Knight today? Completely turned the day around after Jon Umber lost the damn melee - finally someone from the North wins something."

"How are you sure that the person is of the North?" Ned asked his brother. "As of this point, all we can be sure of is that the knight is a man." _And yet, we never did see his face…_

Brandon waved him off. "Don't be daft, Ned. The laughing weirwood? Sounds like a mocking jape from someone north of Moat Cailin."

"It isn't just the Lords of the North that follow the old gods," Catelyn added. "House Blackwood does too - father and I have visited Raventree Hall plenty of times. The dead weirwood there is massive, and they have resisted calls to worship the Seven since the Andal invasions." The daughter of House Tully ended the last with a slight tone of distaste. "Brynden Rivers, the Targaryen Bastard, followed the old gods because his mother was a Blackwood."

As before, Brandon was oblivious. "I understand, Cat, but the few remnants in the south of our faith - House Blackwood, House Dayne, and the like - are pretty muted about it. Up in the North, we're proud of our heritage and defiance. Especially with our gods." He leaned down to kiss Catelyn's neck, causing her to giggle. "They'll be your gods as well once we marry, my little trout."

The happy, lovestruck expression on Catelyn's face that was always there around Brandon seemed to vanish upon the mention of the old gods… and her likely conversion. Eyes fluttering shut and a quick, silent prayer mumbled from her lips. Averting his gaze, sipping his cider, Ned hid his worry for Brandon. The maiden was completely devoted to his brother, but the coming culture clash would test their relationship greatly - as well as the relationship between House Stark and the other Northern Houses. His countrymen valued their faith and their cultural independence from the rest of Westeros. House Manderly had been demonized and shut out till they abandoned their Reach-like ways and adopted the old gods. _If Catelyn doesn't..._

His thoughts were interrupted as Rodrik Cassel entered. "My Lords, Lord Arryn is requesting entry."

Ned's mood perked up as he stood. "Let him in, Rodrik." At the entrance of the impeccably dressed older Lord of the Vale, Ned opened his arms to embrace his foster father. "Lord Jon, it always a pleasure."

"Likewise, Eddard," Lord Arryn smiled, turning to the risen Brandon and Catelyn. "Forgive me for interrupting your quiet evening, but I hoped to come give the Lady Lyanna my best. I heard she has taken ill?"

"Aye, but she is sleeping at the moment," Brandon replied, touched at Lord Arryn's consideration. "I'll be sure to give her your thoughts, but please. Join us for some cider."

He poured himself a steaming cup. "Ah, the tasty northern brew. Your brother made me some years ago and I buy apples by the bushel ever since." Sharing a laugh at the fond memories with Ned, Lord Arryn let the liquid warm his insides. "How are you handling the betrothal?" There was no need to elaborate.

Ned smiled. "The Crown Prince is a person hard to dislike. He's charmed all of us and Lyanna is quite smitten." Putting it mildly. He had never seen his sister so happy outside of holding a sword or riding Winter - even her precious novel didn't make Lyanna smile as Rhaegar did.

"I didn't expect it though," Brandon stated the obvious. "Gods, I doubt any of us did. Accepting as we are of Lya's decision to go through with it, the prospect of her being the second wife to the Prince does give me pause."

"The Princess Elia is a kind soul," Catelyn said. "I met her at last year's tourney here and don't think she'd be vindictive… but jealousy is a strong motive." She didn't say anymore, but it was clear she was thinking of Petyr Baelish. The lad was confined to quarters for the foreseeable future, Lord Tully already making arrangements to send him to Riverrun for further recovery.

Lord Arryn frowned. "It's not really the Princess Elia I have worries about." He looked greatly burdened. "Your father did a wonderful job raising you boys, and Ned… I couldn't have asked for a better ward, but I'm afraid neither of us prepared you for life at court."

Furrowing his brows, Ned looked puzzled. "What do you mean, my Lord?"

"I'm afraid the old adage of Starks never prospering south of Moat Cailin holds quite a bit of truth."

"Cregan Stark did well for himself," commented Brandon.

"Yes he did, but that was in the aftermath of the Dance of Dragons when the Northern blunt honesty was needed to sweep clean the aftermath of rampant corruption and backstabbing. In peacetime, the latter is the norm and Northerners don't do so well." Lord Arryn winced. "I fear your father and sister are walking into a den of vipers like Baelor the Blessed, though I also fear they won't come out. Prince Rhaegar can only protect them so far."

His own worries popping up, Ned met the eyes of his foster father. "Perhaps you could advise my sister? She needs someone experienced, and you were fostered at court if I recall correctly?"

Silent for a moment, Lord Arryn then smiled. "You're a good man, Eddard. Cares for your family when most are only out there for themselves." He clasped Ned on the shoulder. "I can speak to her, certainly, though I'm not sure if I can journey to the capitol. I would advise both of you to speak with the Crown Prince about this. Not counting your father… there's no one but he that I would trust as protecting your sister's interests. Mace Tyrell…"

"Mace Tyrell is a pompous peacock without a shred of brains," Brandon spat. "All he did during last night's feast was brag about how his newborn was betrothed to Prince Viserys."

Lord Arryn rolled his eyes. "He's a gentle soul, but an idiot, yes. Don't count on him until Rhaegar is King. Varys' loyalties are up in the air, Lord Rykker and Lord Velaryon are loyal to Aerys, Pycelle is loyal to Tywin Lannister, and Connington… well…" Arryn chuckled. "Don't count on him."

"Why? Isn't he Rhaegar's close friend?" Ned asked.

"He is, but would rather be in Lyanna's position if you catch my drift." Lord Arryn chuckled as he sipped his drink.

Brandon had a look of disgust on his face. "Disgusting."

"In the days of the Faith Militant, they knew how to punish buggerers," Catelyn stated firmly.

"Enough influence and enough discretion can bury even the worst criminals, Lady Catelyn." He turned back to Ned and Brandon. "Don't trust anyone in King's Landing. Be candid to no one but family, the Prince, and Queen Rhaella. But even then, just be careful what you say. The spider has ears everywhere."

Ned was about to ask what 'the spider' was when the tent flap swished open and he lost all words. There, standing directly in front of him, was the golden lioness Cersei Lannister herself. Hair plaited into a crown of braids in the southern style, which framed her face in a sort of halo.

"Lord Stark, Lord Stark," she offered curtly, though with less venom than their first meeting. "Lord Arryn. I was told by your squire that you would be here in the Stark quarters."

Polished as always, the Lord of the Vale bowed respectfully. "Of course, Lady Cersei. How can I be of service?"

"My father sent some dispatches for me to deliver to you. He's concerned about the trade arrangements between Casterly Rock and the Eyrie." Unlike most young maidens, Cersei seemed to understand the basics of policy and ruling. Smart, if emotional.

He nodded. "Of course. We can discuss them in my quarters." Bading the Starks farewell, he exited the tent.

Before she followed him, Cersei turned to Ned. "Lord Eddard."

Counting trees until it was over, hoping not to show how flustered he was, Ned was forced to face the beautiful lioness. "Um… yes, Lady Cersei?" He could almost feel Brandon's quizzical look boring into his back.

"Thank you for your explanations today at the melee. I'm afraid most vagaries of fighting sports are beyond me, and can be worried for my brother's safety."

It took a moment before he found words. "I… I was glad to be of assistance, and can understand being worried for a sibling."

She was in no mood to continue, clearly uncomfortable. "Good night." and with that she was gone.

Turning, Ned found Brandon's brow cocked up. "What?"

"Oh… nothing, brother." It was most definitely not nothing, and both brothers knew that.

* * *

The forest at night was a place alive. The cooing of nocturnal birds, the chirping of crickets, small mammals scampering about in the undergrowth. For someone familiar with these woods as Rhaegar was, there was nothing civilized or tame about Westeros. Outside castle walls or the outskirts of the very few cities - he could count them all on a single hand - there was only wilderness. Land inhabited by those following the justice of survival rather than of the King's. Put much into perspective.

He crept forward through the low foliage, hand kept close to his sword in case of trouble. Eyes having long since adjusted into the chilly darkness only barely lifted by the glow of the moon, at no sign of his target he waved Arthur forward. The Sword of the Morning even quieter as he moved the dozen yards to Rhaegar's side. "No sign of him," whispered the Kignsguard.

"Hopefully he's far gone from here," Rhaegar murmured in response. Perhaps if they found something discarded he could inform his father that the mystery knight died. _Then I can get back to Lyanna._ Unable to even pay her a visit since she had nearly fainted in his arms, the Prince's mind was fraught with worry.

Arthur raised an eyebrow underneath his helmet. "You don't intend on finding him, do you?"

A sigh. "What would you have me do? Find an innocent knight and send him to be executed? My father's delusions aren't claiming another man." Frankly, the only good thing his father's mental state had ever done was give him Lyanna.

They had both discarded their horses long before for stealth concerns. For two heavily armored Westerosi knights, both of them could move rather silently in their Valyrian and Dornish styles. Trained by the best warriors in tracking and hunting… which this pretty much was. Combing the dense forests of the southern Riverlands with the persistence of a bloodhound. Much as the King ordered him to use all the Kingsguards, his lack of initiative in seeing to his orders being carried out left everything to the subordinates. While some would burn the forest down to curry favor, Rhaegar made sure to not let anything horrid happen. _I'm not always successful._

A flicker of light in the distance caused Rhaegar to suddenly hold up his hand. "What's that?"

"Looks like an abandoned cottage, my Prince." Cold winters found a lot of them dotting the countryside, their occupants having died or fled to warmer climes when the food ran out. But this one held a flickering light and smoke coming out of the chimney. "We should check it out." If the Knight of the Laughing Tree was anywhere, it would be there.

The approach was covered with trees and underbrush, allowing both of them to dash across the last dozen yards without being seen. Dilapidated beyond belief, the cottage was clearly only standing due to a combination of wooden logs and stone walls mortared together. Classic design for this part of the Riverlands, rich in both trees and stone. As for the rest… the thatch roof had caved in in multiple places, thin walls decaying before their very eyes. Tied up by the doorway was a sleeping horse. _Smart._ No better hiding place for a refugee than an abandoned hovel likely devoid of inhabitants for a year.

Leaving Arthur to stand overwatch, Rhaegar scooted in a crouch towards the window. Making sure not to be seen, he slowly peered above the windowsill… only for his eyes to nearly bug out of his head at the sight.

_Lyanna?_

Standing in the middle of the single room was his betrothed. She bore the same mismatched and oversized armor as the Knight did, and the laughing Weirwood shield rested on the ground not far from her. There was no doubt, his betrothed was the Knight of the Laughing Tree.

Flipping around, back resting against the crumbling stone wall, Rhaegar blinked. Clasping his palm atop his forehead to control his astonishment. Women who could handle a blade… they were rare but not unheard of. Women warriors that could bring weapons into a fight and triumph… who wore the pluck of dressing as a knight and entering the Tourney of a mercurial King just to defend the honor of s friend… next to impossible. The only persons matching this that Rhaegar could think of were both Targaryens. Queen Visenya and Princess Daena the Defiant. Perhaps Queen Rhaenyra has she been as adept at fighting as dragonriding.

Thinking about it more and more, the mysteries of his bride to be coming into the light with this revelation, a smile slowly curved on Rhaegar's face. The incest among Targaryens, most explained it as a means to control the dragons - but as Rhaegar seemed to realize more and more… there was an allure that a true dragon held for another of its kind. Where only another dragon could truly mate and pair with the blood of the passionate, fiery creatures. And with no dragons, other, similar natures applied as well. Elia was cunning and smart, a match for him in wit and politics. And now, right in front of him was a fierce, daring direwolf of Winter. Rhaegar peered back into the cabin, watching Lyanna remove her armor.

In spite of her dark hair and northern features, she looked like Visenya reborn - or at least Daena.

"Your Grace…" Before Rhaegar could shush Arthur, the Sword of the Morning managed to get a peek of the damning scene. His eyes widened as well, mouth dropping like a fish while Rhaegar pushed him away from the window. "I'll be damned… Lyanna Stark is the Knight of the Laughing Tree."

Rhaegar frowned. "Say it a little louder, Arthur. See if they can hear you back in Starfall." Arthur closed his mouth, but a sly grin formed. "What?"

The knight chuckled softly. "You are one lucky son of a bitch, my Prince. First Elia, the cunning political mind… and now Lyanna Stark, master rider and northern warrior. It's like Rhaenys and Visenya reborn."

Opening his mouth to speak, Rhaegar found no words. Arthur's comparison was quite apt, and the smile from before returned with a vengeance. Threatening to split his lip open. Lyanna… she's perfect. The sight of her in the armor, knowing just how skilled she was in using it… it lit a fire within Rhaegar. Woke his inner dragon. This was no innocent maiden or power-hungry bitch, but a genuine, fierce soul. One who in only a few days had wormed her way into his heart. Someone he could be honest with - a true wife and lover to fill the yearning in his soul.

"Rhaegar… my Prince…"

Arthur's voice brought him out of his reverie. "Stand guard somewhere close. I'll figure out something to tell my father."

"I was just going to say, enjoy yourself." The knight smiled wide at his friend. "It's been ages since I've seen you this happy. All who care about you want more of it." Rhaegar matched his friend's smile and stepped towards the cabin door.

Fingers nimbly undoing the strap holding the breastplate in place, it clattered to the floor - but not before brushing a large bruise on her shoulder. "Ahhh… fuck!" Damn Waldron Frey. Hiking up her tunic, leaving only a set of breast bindings clothing her torso, Lyanna examined the various bruises, welts, and cuts on her body with a reflecting glass Howland had placed in the cabin for her. Nothing that would be serious, but still irritating.

Chucking another log into the fireplace to ward off the chill - tame compared to the gales of the North, but biting her bare skin through the gaps in the roof and walls - Lyanna silently commended Dacey and Howland for finding this place. Both sufficiently inconspicuous enough to get away with it all. A quick patch up and she could throw on her dress and ditch the armor and shield._ Your last chance to be free and wild._ The inner voice of worry ate at her. Rhaegar was… perfect, but the thought of being a demure, quiet Queen still gnawed underneath the surface. _I hope he understands._

_Would any man?_ Her own father barely did.

Pouring some sour wine from a jug onto a strip of cloth, she dabbed it on her wounds. Enduring the deep sting with clenched teeth and a hiss. Maester Luwin always treated their wounds with it, an old trick from the Citadel. It worked after all. _I should have been more careful, anticipated their coming blows._ In all honesty, Lyanna hadn't seen a joust till the specific Tourney, and it had been a testament to her skill on a horse that she had beaten each of the three scumbags. Wounds and all.

Was it worth it? _Damn straight._ A wolfish grin came about her face as she continued to treat her cuts with the rag. Seeing both knights cowering before her, Waldron Frey being carried off moaning like the little bitch he was, it was so satisfying. A memory she would have for the rest of her life - a last hurrah before having to adopt the courtly manners of a proper southern Queen.

In all her musings and reminiscences of the day's events, Lyanna didn't hear the door opening or notice the armored form enter the room. Catching a glimpse of creamy skin and trim, shapely curves all leading up to a rather ample bosom encased in the bindings, Rhaegar leaned against a beam. Crossing his arms with an appreciating smirk. Letting the seconds tick by, curious as to how long she'd go without noticing him - plus he just couldn't tear his gaze away from how beautiful she was. _My winter's wolf…_

Rolling her shoulders, Lyanna pressed the rag against her bruise there. There was no cut, but the liquid chilled in the early spring chill was quite soothing. A sigh left Lyanna. The daughter of Winterfell finally allowed herself to relax.

Hearing that lovely sigh - going straight to his crotch - Rhaegar couldn't take it anymore. "Look what we have here."

Almost jumping ten feet into the air - the half-yelp, half-scream leaving her lips most unladylike - Lyanna swerved around to see Crown Prince Rhaegar, her betrothed, leaning there with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. "Uh… my Prince…" _Think, Lya, think…_ "It's not what it looks like." Catching his eyes flicker to to the shield emblazoned with Howland's beautiful laughing weirwood… _Really, Lyanna? Really?_ Flushing crimson, all she could do at that moment was grab her tunic. Covering her nearly bare torso.

"Not what it looks like?" Smirk not faltering, Rhaegar pushed himself off the beam. Walking slowly towards the trapped warrior maiden. Violet eyes trained intensely on Lyanna. "Well, let's have a look see. You are dressed in riding breeches and, I suppose, a tunic." Her face reddened even further as he alluded to her state of undress. "There is stripped plate armor on the floor, as well as a shield. A shield with a very distinctive sigil painted atop it."

Lyanna's heart pounded in her chest as he drew closer. Close enough that she could smell his masculine scent, driving her wild. At that moment she realized she hadn't ever seen him in his armor. Plates arranged up his arms and legs like scales, breastplate snugly against his chest emblazoned with the red three-headed dragon. Large plates accentuating his broad shoulders, silver-hair pulled up into a bun rather than let down so she could run her fingers through them like she so wanted… Lyanna had never seen a more handsome man than Rhaegar Targaryen, and seeing him dressed for battle was turning her into a longing mush.

From the widening smirk on his face, he knew it. "I may be wrong, but you look just like a certain knight that defeated Waldron Frey earlier in the Newcomer's Joust… but I think that knight was a man."

It may have been how he was enjoying the effect he had on here, or perhaps it was his last statement - either way, Lyanna managed to pull herself together. Scowl forming on her face, she quickly threw on her tunic. Grey eyes steely as they stared him down. "Very well, my Prince. Yes, I am the Knight of the Laughing Tree."

He was still thinking of how to express his thoughts - and to be honest her ire simple made her more beautiful. "I find that hard to believe, my Lady."

"Find it hard to believe?!" Her glare was incredulous. "I am a woman of the North, not some southern maiden living cloistered and praying to the Seven every time I think an impure thought." Her worst fears seemed to be true - for all his kindness, respect… otherworldly beauty, he still expected her to be a proper lady. To raise his children and act as a hostess while he ruled the Seven Kingdoms and engaged in knightly pursuits. "I am no demure southern lady, my Prince. I ride, I know swordplay, and apparently I can joust as well…" Rhaegar was silent, making no further gesture. While part of Lyanna said it was not wise to scream at Rhaegar the things more suited to tell Robert or even her father, once it started it had to come out. "So if you expect me to sit quietly then you can…"

She was cut off by Rhaegar pulling her flush against his armored chest. Lips finding hers in a passionate kiss.

When one grew up at court - especially the court of Aerys II Targaryen - you learned how to read people or you died. It was sink or swim and thanks to the council of his mother and, oddly, Hand of the King Tywin Lannister, Rhaegar swam. As Lyanna continued to rant, he realized the real reason for Lyanna's hesitation. While Elia would always be an issue and the suddenness would be overcome with time, the fear and bitterness would be poison to their marriage. Especially since Rhaegar first fell entranced by this woman when seeing her fight. Realizing she was the Weirwood Knight, a magnificent female warrior as the great Visenya before her only sealed it. Unable to truly convey such a cauldron of emotion, Rhaegar did what he had been longing to do and simply kissed her.

Initially taken aback, eyes wide and gasping, a gentle warmth fill her. _Gods, he feels amazing._ Lyanna melted into the kiss, reaching up to loop her arms around his neck. Feeling his tongue gently lick her lips, asking for entrance, she practically swooned. It was clear to her that a dragon burned inside him, waiting to be unleashed. But unlike Robert, he was considerate enough to hold back. To wait for permission, something she willingly gave. Next thing she knew the dragon awoke. Unleashing a passionate fury in her mouth one gladly reciprocated.

_This should have been my first kiss._ As Rhaegar drew back, both panting heavily, her tension had disappeared, Lyanna gazing into his violet eyes with a gentle longing. The kiss had been perfect.

Catching his breath, Rhaegar cupped her soft cheek. "You truly believed I wanted a quiet, meek wife simply as a broodmare?"

Lyanna bit her lip, suddenly embarrassed. When Rhaegar put it that way, her worried seemed so foolish in hindsight. "I… it's just how it is. Even in the North."

Smiling at her, Rhaegar kissed the crown of her head. "Coming from the family of female warriors and dragonriders, those that believe that are fools." The Prince could get lost in his betrothed's grey eyes, sparkling with affection at his statements. "Truth be told, it was witnessing you clobber those boorish squires..."

She gaped at him. "You witnessed that?!" Blood rushed back to her face, wrenching away in humiliation. Not letting him finish. "Seven Hells, what must you have thought of me…"

Rhaegar pressed a single finger against her lips, stilling her. "Calm down, Lyanna." How he said her name made Lyanna's heart flutter. "As I was saying, seeing that was what drew me to you in the first place." Lyanna blinked in surprise. "I knew from the beginning that I have a beautiful, courageous, brave, and strong…" He grinned... "Piece of work for a betrothed. And seeing you defend young Lord Reed's honor on the jousting field… gods, you're incredible." Even with their problems, Elia had been a priceless gem to him - an intelligent politician with an inner steel. Lightning struck twice as another strong woman fell into his lap. _Perhaps I am one of fortune's favorites after all?_

"I…" Lyanna couldn't believe it. "You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?"

Gods, how foolish had she been to ever doubt him. Her Prince Daemon. "I'm sorry, Rhaegar." Her eyes flickered down, ashamed. "I just assumed that you could be like most southern men who like their wives to be weak, quiet things."

Briefly frowning at such a common desire, Rhaegar lightly grasped Lyanna's chin and pulled her back to look at him. A smile formed on his face as he caressed the soft skin of her cheek. "Well, im not like those fools, Lyanna. I did not start falling for a weak or manipulative woman, but for the She-Wolf of Winterfell. Proud and strong and very, very beautiful."

This time it was she that was lost for words. It was she that leaned up and planted her lips on his, nothing holding them back in their second kiss. Tongues demanding and searching. Hands bold as his rested on her waist and hers ran along the form-fitting plates of his armor. Two beings supremely comfortable with the other, able to express their latent passion. Lyanna felt Rhaegar push her backward till her back hit the wall, plundering it like a triumphant conqueror. _Yes… don't stop, Rhaegar…_ Had he decided to take her maidenhead right there, she would have urged him on.

But much to her displeasure - though his respect for her was one reason she had fallen so deeply for him in such a short time - he drew back once more. It was now his turn to look nervous. "Perhaps we should talk?"

Biting her lip again, Lyanna nodded. "Yes, we should." Drawing two worn chairs covered in dust, Rhaegar gestured for Lyanna to sit, which she did. His sudden nervousness was adorable. "We've had too many misunderstandings, Rhaegar." She took his hand in hers, tracing along the powerful palm. "What would you like to know?"

Electric tingle shooting up him from her touch, Rhaegar forced himself away from thoughts of her. Of her lips swollen from their passion. "Why were you so worried about our marriage? I mean, being the Princess does pose certain problems to overcome, but also a freedom from certain conventions. If you perform your duties, then there is nothing else truly expected of you, so why the fear?"

Lyanna looked away, pursing her lips. "Let's just say I haven't had a decent history with betrothals before you, my Dragon." She smiled slightly. "Do you mind if I call you that?"

He laughed, a cheery chuckle of a man without a care in the world - something few had heard him ever do since he was but a child. "I like it… my Wolf." Their eyes sparkled at each other. "So, by history you mean your betrothal to Robert Baratheon?" A dark glare flashed across her expression. "Lyanna… what did he do?" _If he forced himself on her…_

With a hearty sigh - one holding back a still simmering anger, but also a pointless one at this point - Lyanna proceeded to recount her encounters with her previous suitor. From the disrespect, to the kiss, to the almost giddy way he slept with whores while also believing he professed a deep live fit her, by the end she could see Rhaegar was boiling.

"That shit." Rhaegar suppressed his urge to be a kinslayer at that moment. "To think he has any Targaryen blood… fucking disgrace." The Prince pulled her onto his lap, snug in a tight embrace. "Please tell me that your brothers and father no longer have anything to do with that slug?"

She nuzzled her nose against the crook of his neck, enjoying the spicy scent of her Dragon Prince. "They reacted badly when I told them." Memories of what Robert had told her came to mind, the true reason she had been so fearful of Rhaegar… _I truly feared my Daemon…_ Feeling so horrible, the weight of all her worries suddenly hit her - of everything that had been both created and resolved and was still to be in the balance. Clutching to him tighter, she began to softly sob.

Sounds Rhaegar heard almost immediately. "Lyanna?" Surprised by her sudden tears, he pulled her back to look at her, gently rubbing her back. "Lya… what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"I'm sorry... I want to be strong." Everything he had told her - it just seemed like a dream. "I… I don't want to live in chains. I can't live in chains, Rhaegar."

Seeing those beautiful grey eyes watering again, Rhaegar's heart broke - a sight as horrifying to see as when Elia broke into silent tears at his father insulting their little girl. I swear to you, Lya, I will never chain you."

Sniffling, Lyanna couldn't help but to shift around till she rested her head against his armored chest, listening to his heartbeat underneath the plate. "So if I wish to practice my swordplay?" It had taken years to convince her father to allow Lyanna to train - before which she had trained in the wolfswood with Bran - and that only was due to her agreeing to etiquette lessons from Nan. To train and spar meant the world to her.

"I'll appoint Ser Arthur or Ser Oswell as your instructor if you want."

Lyanna peered up at him, regarding him with new eyes. "And if I wish to ride?"

Gently, he wiped the tears off her cheeks. "The beaches of Dragonstone are perfect for riding. I'll make sure the best mounts in Westeros are there for you to choose from." Honoring and cherishing this gem - this winter rose, it was so easy for him. She was just so perfect.

She blushed. "I already have the best horse in the seven kingdoms." They both laughed at that, Lyanna's tears long forgotten. _How did I get so lucky?_ "His Grace's announcement came at the perfect time for me." Lyanna reached up to cup his cheek. "You saved me from what would be a horrible marriage, instead giving me what I hope will be a wonderful one."

"It will be wonderful, Lyanna." He said this without any doubt in his voice. "I'll do everything in my power to protect you and make you happy. This day until the end of my days." She stared at him, for his use of the Andal wedding vows - it was not by accident. "It's only been a short time since we truly met, but since then I've fallen for you, Lyanna Stark."

They still had to get to know everything about the other, but the bond was made - all that was left to do was strengthen it till it was unbreakable. _I have no intention of letting him get away._ "I fell for you the moment I heard you sing." Lyanna's expression grew determined. "I don't give a fuck what anyone says, my Prince. I want to be your Queen... if you'll have me that is?"

Rhaegar was taken aback for a moment at the blunt, crude words, but recovered quickly. Grabbing her face with both hands. "Of course I'll have you, my feisty Wolf."

They kissed again, and time just ended for Lyanna. One moment she was in his lap, and the next he had laid her on the threadbare reed mat that lined the dirty floor. Tongues tangled and hands brushing all over her body. She gasped as he moved to her neck, licking and kissing, a livewire to her core. Wordlessly, Lyanna reached and began removing his armor. Tossing them in every direction until he was in a simple tunic. Hands inching under the fabric to feel his hard muscles - muscles that made her mouth water. Whatever had overcome Lyanna, she didn't care.

Kissing back up to her mouth, Rhaegar felt all the most lustful urges coursing through him. Instinct growling at him to bury his length in her heat, to breed the beautiful, wild direwolf with his dragonseed. Tempering the hot blood coursing through him, Rhaegar nevertheless reached down to untie her trousers.

Lost in her passion, his actions brought her back to reality. "Wait… Rhaegar…" Lyanna broke their kiss, half-lidded eyes staring into his dark indigo. She decided then and there she could melt into a puddle by simply gazing into his eyes. "I want to remain a… a maiden until our wedding night." She blushed.

Smiling gently, Rhaegar kissed her sweetly. "I respect your virtue, my Wolf. You are truly a winter's rose." Still, he went back to yanking down her trousers. "But I still intend on making you shatter." Something feral was driving him. Rhaegar needed to see her screaming his name. Needed it more than breathing.

Brows furrowed in confusion, trusting him yet still unknowing of what in the name of the old gods her betrothed was doing, Lyanna watched him kiss down her stomach. Then kiss along her thighs. And then kiss… there. "Rhaegar… what…?" Just as she spoke, the Prince's tongue licked a slow strip up her slit - and it felt so deliriously… good. "Fuck, my Prince… don't stop…"

_"Raqagon, ñuha dōna zokla."_ Pushing her thighs wide apart, Rhaegar moaned into her heat. _"Sylutī._" She tasted divine - he fancied Elia's, but Lyanna's wasn't comparable. Like two flavors of sweet wine, and he was lucky enough to enjoy both. Her hands weaved into his hair, tugging and pulling until they fell from his bun. He tossed her legs about his shoulders. "Do you like the Lord's Kiss?"

"Oh yes…" She was seeing stars, driven to her edge by his hungry licks. "More, Rhaegar. More!" All she could hear was the sliding of his tongue through her folds, and her frantic breaths.

She was close - he had enough experience with Elia to know for sure. "Lyanna…" he whispered into her wetness. Rhaegar shifted up, lashing his tongue against her little nub. Rewarded by her hips bucking, fingers pulling at his hair. Lyanna's back arched up, wetness covering his mouth to which he downed gladly. "_Māzigon syt nyke._" Reveling in the shuddering moan that signaled her climax to the world.

Lyanna, arm pressed against her forehead to steady her thoughts, closed her eyes. His voice… Gods, that voice… Speaking in High Valyrian, a language beautiful on his tongue. Opening them again as she panted. "Seven hells…" The aftershocks of her climax still shuddered through her. "That was… Gods, Rhaegar."

Shit-eating grin planted on his face - no man unable to feel smug at making such a gorgeous beauty shatter like that - Rhaegar gently lapped up the remnants of her juices and pulled up her trousers. Fastening them. "So," he said, shimmying till he was by her side. "I'll take it you enjoyed?"

"Mmmmm… that was wonderful, Rhaegar." Needing to be close to him, Lyanna threw her arms around his side, snuggling into his chest. "I can't wait for my life with you." The reality would be quite complex to navigate, but at least she'd have this man beside her during all of it. Lyanna allowed that truth to push everything else aside for now.

"Me neither, my winter goddess." Kissing her hair, sniffing the cold, clean scent, he couldn't help but laugh. "I still can't believe you were the Knight of the Laughing Tree."

Smiling back, Lyanna now knew he held nothing but affection in his tone. "Well, those cunts needed to be taught a lesson, and since this wasn't on the menu I was in need of some fun." Her grin matched his.

Out of nowhere, Rhaegar frowned. "My father…" The mood darkened. "He wants the knight dead."

Lyanna blinked, suddenly fearful. "What, why?"

"I can't be sure anymore…" A sigh, running his hand through his silver locks. "His mind doesn't operate on the plane of sanity anymore." Rhaegar grabbed her hands. "I'll take your helmet and say the knight washed away into the God's Eye. No one will ever know." He pressed a searing kiss to her lips. "You are my betrothed, Lyanna. You are part of the dragon pack, and I will protect you to the death."

She smiled wanly. _Prince Daemon Targaryen, leaping off Caraxes to his death to protect the one he loved._ "Don't die, Rhaegar. Live, so that we may know a long and happy life."

"Oh, I intend to."

After helping him with his armor - an action frequently interrupted by sweet kisses and lustful touches - Rhaegar finally left the cottage. Shutting the door behind him, Lyanna turned and collapsed against it. Sliding to the ground with a dreamy smile on her face and the feeling of his lips still tingling all over her body. Never having been happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the Pact of Ice and Fire is pretty much sealed :D
> 
> I know many of y'all wanted to see Aerys grinning when Lyanna was unmasked at the tourney. Perhaps in another fic, but this reaction is necessary for later developments. Trust me.
> 
> Ned, Ned, Ned, I think he's a glutton for punishment, lol.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Raqagon, ñuha dōna zokla - Enjoy, my sweet wolf
> 
> Sylutī - tasty
> 
> Māzigon syt nyke - Come for me
> 
> Next time, Targaryen v. Baratheon for the title of King's Champion!


	12. Dragon v. Stag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry for the delay. Holidays and all that. But here we are at the big clash between Robert and Rhaegar. Lots of stuff happening this chapter!
> 
> Be sure to check out my Jonerys one shot, Something About Dragonstone :D
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

"So, how was it?"

Creamy lids fluttering open, Lyanna's eyes flickered to Dacey's behind her through the looking glass. Normally she'd be squirming and cursing through the daily setting of her hairstyle - rendered more important due to the betrothal - but the future Crown Princess of the Seven Kingdoms was rather quiet this time. "How was what?" she asked back, innocently.

Dacey chuckled. "You know very well what I'm referring to." Twisting Lyanna's chestnut hair into a simple crown of braids - symbolism not lost on either - the She-Bear leaned in. "How was Rhaegar? The look on your face says everything."

Blushing faintly, instead of embarrassment Lyanna could only feel a warm contentment flow through her. "It was the best," she basically swooned. Her rather girlish attitude whenever she thought of Rhaegar, seeming better suited to a story about Florian and Jonquil, didn't bother her anymore. Rhaegar was completely worth it. _My beautiful Prince Daemon._

A grin spread on the lady in waiting's face. "That good, huh? Had to be if it got you blushing like that." She puffed up the hair, arranging it in a perfect halo for Lyanna's angelic face. "Think a Prince or Princess is already on the way?"

This time, the blush was rather intense. "What? No." Lyanna wanted to shake her head, but didn't want to disrupt Dacey's masterpiece with her hair. It wasn't fancy, but a faint application of powder to the cheeks joined with the simple hairstyle meant to ground her wild northern beauty served to find the perfect balance between elegance and exotic. "I am still a maiden. He understood when I told him that would wait till the waiting night."

"Respectful… he's a keeper, though I guarantee you there was a dragon hidden inside him waiting to be unleashed." Both young women grinned at each other. "So, what did he do that got you blushing like a swooning maiden?"

"Something with his… tongue." Far from embarrassed now, she smirked lasciviously, transformed into a seductress.

"The Lord's Kiss? Ah, I've had that before, but no one could get me to the swooning stage." Mormont women were wild bears, but very picky with their men. Dacey seemed carry in that tradition, only having eyes for the Sword of the Morning himself.

Her blush returned, a dreamy look forming on her face. "It was absolutely amazing. So kind… so passionate… the perfect balance." This had to be a dream. There was no way such delirious happiness was possible. "I'm falling in love with him, Dacey. Gods help me for going so quickly, but I don't care. He's perfect."

"I wouldn't be ashamed of that." Wrapping her arms around Lyanna's shoulders, Dacey smiled at her through the mirror. "The Prince is a genuine person. No man not pure of heart would have accepted you wishing to remain a maiden with such grace and acceptance - plus you have the same intuition as the wolf you are. Good instincts, and found yourself a keeper." She pressed an affectionate kiss on the crown of her head. "There's stuff to be careful about, but your growing love for the Crown Prince isn't one of them."

Tilting her head, glancing at Dacey, Lyanna gave a large smile. "Thank you." The worries were always there, but it heartened her that Dacey, Ned, her father, and the so many others that loved her were in her corner.

There was a gentle silence between the two. "So… did he say dirty words in Valyrian while licking you?" Her lady in waiting grinned.

Lyanna pulled back to glare at her. "Shut it."

"I'll take that as a yes." Dacey grinned even wider.

"Get out!" Lyanna ordered, a good-natured smile forming on her face. Laughing herself, Dacey bowed and complied, eager to get a good spot at the Tourney grounds - likely hoping to get a good glance at the Sword of the Morning. She was obvious that way.

Rising from her chair, a gentle breeze wafting through the tent, Lyanna admired herself in the mirror. If it weren't for dacey her hair would have practically been a birds nest of wild strands every which way instead of the waterfall of silky locks that fell to her waist, though she doubted Rhaegar would mind. _Rhaegar…_ She hated the doe-eyed, dreamy stares her friends would give the men of the household guards, but here she was doing the same thing to her Dragon Prince. And she wasn't ashamed - he deserved her affections and her love. Looking the image over in the looking glass, it was like Lyanna had transformed herself. Beautiful hairstyle, a finely powdered face, literally the only fine dress she owned in a fine northern style. Glittering sky blue and accentuating her curves, Lyanna knew Rhaegar would be burning with desire while on his horse at the joust.

Just thinking of her beloved, she twirled around, laughing. Gliding around the room with a carefree smile, singing softly in her joy. There would be problems coming forward - dealing with the Princess Elia and a crash course at adapting to court life, but it didn't matter at this moment. She had her Dragon Prince, a man that loved and respected her. One that cherished all of her quirks and accepted her for who she was. _I think he'd even spar with me if I asked him to._ The thought made her giggle with glee. Nothing could ruin her mood at this point.

"My Lady Lyanna?"

Turns out, the thought had been far too soon. Halting, Lyanna's eyes found the fully armored form of a young highborn waiting by the entrance to the tent. Had it been Rhaegar paying a visit prior to the jousts, she would have ran into his arms and kissed him so passionately they would have toppled over from lack of air. But it wasn't the Valyrian armor of a Targaryen Prince, but the heavy plate of a Stormlands Lord. Her smile fell immediately as her posture grew guarded. "Lord Baratheon."

Confident smile on his face, Robert was in the best of moods. Armor freshly shined, lances sharpened, and horses fully trained in several practice runs, there was no doubt in his mind that the victory in the final joust would be his. A bath with three of Chataya's best girls and the finest gambeson and breeches imported from Tyrosh to go with his suit of armor, all that was left was to find the woman he would be calling his wife by the end of it all. "Oh my dear, you need not be so formal with me." Before Lyanna could respond, he snatched her hand and kissed the knuckles. "You look beautiful in that dress." Upon walking in - confident Ned or Brandon would allow him in if asked - her carefree dancing was just too alluring that he couldn't stop himself from admiring the view.

For once, he didn't smell like wine. That didn't stop Lyanna from wrinkling her nose in disgust. While there was no appetite left in her for a confrontation that would likely get ugly, she nevertheless couldn't stand to be in the same room with him. "What do you want, Lord Baratheon?" she asked, trying to be polite. Crossing her arms and hoping to just wait him out before her brothers or father came to get her.

He bowed, looking like the epitome of a chivalrous knight in the light of the seven. "I am about to compete for the grand prize today. Would you be so kind as to allow me to wear your favor?"

Lyanna's delicate eyebrow rose. _He's japing me, right?_ As if she'd ever let him wear her favor after what an ass he was... "I'm sorry my Lord," she said in a calmer voice than he deserved. "If I'm to give my favor to anyone it will be to my betrothed."

Blinking, the Stormlands lord paramount looked confused. "I am your betrothed. Your father accepted your brother's offer, and he knows how devoted I am to you."

_He honestly believes this._ "We are not betrothed, Robert. It was only an offer, one that was never finalized." Lyanna leaned against a table in the tent, eyes narrowing. "My true betrothed is Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, ordered by the King and accepted by my father, the new Master of Laws and member of the small council."

Robert rolled his eyes. "More about that again." Waving his hand dismissively, Robert stepped closer to the young she-wolf. "I happen to know my uncle, the King. His sister was my grandmother, and I was fostered in the Red Keep for a year as a young child, so I get how he thinks. This is nothing but a power play to piss off Tywin Lannister, the betrothal isn't real."

At this point beyond caring, Lyanna scoffed._ Seven hells - can't this man take a hint? _"I assure you, the betrothal is quite real, Lord Baratheon." The last was almost spat out, Lyanna's ire rising.

In all honesty, he didn't understand why she was upset. "There's no chance it can be. Our betrothal was real, in the sight of the Seven. Even the King cannot undo such or else piss off the Faith, and they already fuckin' hate House Targaryen."

"I told you already that our betrothal, however far it went, was never formalized." It struck Lyanna as darkly ironic that he thought himself as such a fine lord, yet she as a wild northerner was the more educated of the two. "Queen Rhaella renewed the Pact of Ice and Fire with my father and eldest brother after the King's decree. It was finalized earlier in the week, with my father appointed Master of Laws, food and Myrish glass being sent to the North for winter, and my brother being sworn as a Kingsguard."

"Ned as a Kingsguard? Impossible," Robert chortled.

Lyanna fought a laugh herself. _He doesn't even know who Benjen is… I doubt he remembers Ned telling him, or cares one way or another._ "All this time you call yourself his friend and say you're in love with me…"

He peered at her with confused eyes. "But I do love you, my sweet Lyanna…"

Moving to touch her, Lyanna batted his hands away. "Do not touch me, Robert," she snapped, anger at the surface. "You claim to love me without even knowing me or my family. The Pact is sealed. To break it off would bring myself the greatest dishonor." _I would have fled with Rhaegar anyway, had father been so stupid as to betroth me to Robert._ Her loathing of this man and affection for the Prince so strong already, she refused to be ashamed for such a thought, however mad it was.

Fists clenching, Robert nonetheless showed an incredible restraint. "While I commend your Lord Father for making a good deal for your hand, it disgusts me that you would be sold as some broodmare mistress for a dragonspawn."

Lyanna's cheeks started to flush red, this time with anger. "I will not be a mistress Lord Baratheon." While childish fantasies were childish fantasies, she bore the luck and providence to see hers become a near reality. "I'll become the second wife and warrior Queen of the future King of Westeros, Visenya to his Aegon. He is the heir of our ruler and my betrothed in the sight of both the old gods and the new so I suggest you speak of him with respect."

"He's practically a rapist and I will not let him steal what's mine." Robert stepped forward again, their faces only a foot apart.

The Lord of Storm's End towered over her with his bulk but Lyanna refused to be intimidated. Seeing red and gritted teeth. "What's yours?" If he wouldn't understand, she'd have to hammer it into his idiot brain. Lyanna finally realized that this conflict was inevitable, but this time neither Ned nor Brandon could be the one to finish it.

Her anger… she was scared of Rhaegar, Robert was sure of it. _I cannot let him abuse her this way._ Lyanna would be his to wed and protect, and if it meant challenging the Crown then Robert was willing to do so. He was a Baratheon, and they were the fury. "Before the King got involved, you were to be my bride. I won't let the dragonspawn get his claws on you."

_Enough is enough._ "I will become the Prince's wife, Lord Baratheon," she ground out through gritted teeth, voice low. "I am very happy with the prospect so I very well suggest you find another woman because this one will become Queen."

Suddenly his blue eyes grew dark, a dazzling ocean blue almost black with… lust. "I want no other wife but you," he husked. At that moment, before Lyanna could even respond, Robert pulled her to him and kissed her. Thick hands encased in armor wrapping around her waist, trapping her there. His tongue stabbed into her like a mace through bone, even more forcefully than the first time. Then, he merely was overcome by desire. Here, beginning to shove her towards the bed, he was claiming her as his. Absolutely confident that she wanted him to.

Inside, Lyanna was screaming. This was no proper kiss or lover's embrace, not at all like Rhaegar's gentle but fiery touches and caresses. After knowing what a real kiss of love and respect felt like, Lyanna felt even more disgusted at this. Disgusted and… terrified. Knowing where he was going - aiming for her very maidenhead. _No! I will not lose it to this disgusting oaf!_ Unable to push off his bulky frame, she blindly reached for the first thing she could and swung.

The precious book crashed against Robert's cheek. Leaving nothing but a small cut and bruise but causing him to grunt in pain. The shock of which enough to force him off, Lord of Storm's End stumbling back. Looking upon Lyanna with wide, unbelieving eyes. "My sweet…"

"I. Am. Not. Your. Sweet," she hissed, breathing deeply as she shook with rage. "Do not touch me again, or else it will be a dagger I use on you."

At that moment, the guards raced in. Two young members of the Household Guard, illiterate and their first time outside of the ancestral lands of House Stark around Winterfell. They surveyed the scene with confusion and worry, clutching the hilt of their sheathed swords. "What's going on?" Eyes shifting between Lord Baratheon and Lyanna. "My Lady, are you alright?"

Glaring at Robert… the fatigue and tiredness started to wash over her. "I'm fine, Torrhen. Lord Baratheon was just leaving." Lyanna just wanted him gone.

Robert soothed his pained cheek with his hand, the two staring at each other with nary a word. Suddenly, his blue eyes turned a very dark shade - different from before. Something she had never seen in him in their encounters. Angry, but a deep anger. One melded from pure hate. "I'll have you Lyanna, even if it's the last damned thing i do." He grabbed his cape from the coathanger and threw it over his shoulder. "I swear before all the gods that the Dragonspawn will give you to me, or my warhammer will taste his rapist blood." With that, he left. Tent flap swooshing behind him.

Trembling, Lyanna collapsed in the nearest seat. Clutching the book around her waist just like his last visit, only now she was fighting tears rather than mere shock. Strength seeping out of her as the weight of what happened came crashing down. The guards were by her side. "Would you like some wine, my Lady?"

Lyanna shook her head. "No, I'll be fine," she croaked.

"Shall we inform Lord Stark of this?"

"Don't bother him. I'll let him know. Go back to your posts." They nodded and left. Inhaling deeply, Lyanna willed herself to be calm. She wasn't a defenseless maiden, but a wolf of Winterfell. The soon to be Princess to the Dragon Prince. She would be strong. _How in the Seven Hells will I get this oaf out of my ass?_ Perhaps speaking to Ned… or Rhaegar... No, that wasn't an option. _He's still the Lord of Storm's End._ Thinking like a true Princess, political considerations first.

At that moment, the guards called in from outside. "Lady Stark, make way for her Grace, the Queen Rhaella."

Eyes widening, Lyanna quickly stood and set her book gingerly on the table. Smoothing out the creases in her dress, she fell to her knees just as Rhaella breezed through the tent flaps, Kingsguard right behind her. "My Queen."

The Queen let out a small laugh, one comparable to the sweetest song of birds. "Rise Lady Lyanna," she said softly, reaching down in a most familiar way to help her future gooddaughter up. "We will soon be family after all... and do please call me Rhaella."

Rising back to her feet, Lyanna studied the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms - the only time she'd ever seen her was at the feasts, and at that time Rhaella had always been at the head table beside the King. out of range of her detailed vision. Rhaella was the epitome of what the wife of a Valyrian dragonlord should be, silver hair styled in complex braids down the back of her sparkling red dress that displayed just a hint of the porcelain skin beneath. There was an almost ethereal beauty about her, vibrant violet eyes sparkling with compassion. Yet there was a hidden steel set in them. _Like Rhaegar's, but softer._ Smiling, Lyanna knew she would come to love the Queen. "Forgive me for being rather flustered, Rhaella." She would have to get used to being around the dragons, both as her goodkin but also as her children… even for a direwolf it was quite dazzling. "And call me Lyanna as well."

She was graced again by the queens melodious laughter. "It's alright dear. After all, this whole matter was practically thrust upon you." Noticing Lyanna's eyes flicker to the man behind her, Rhaella motioned to Ser Jaime. "This is Ser Jaime Lannister, my Kingsguard."

Handsome, golden features completely distinguishable, Lyanna would know the Lion of Lannister anywhere. "Ser Jaime."

Jaime bowed. "My Lady… it is an honor to meet the woman that has brought Prince Rhaegar so much joy."

"Well, the Prince has only brought me such joy as well. I would be worried if he did not reciprocate." Lyanna turned back to her goodmother. "Shall we head for the tourney grounds? I'd hate to miss the Prince's first tilt."

Unable not to beam at the northern beauty, Rhaella clasped her arm affectionately. "You really do care for my son, don't you?"

"I do." Just thinking about him warmed her heart as they began to leave the tent. "You must have dealt with many maidens and their fathers seeking betrothals before settling on Princess Elia, but truth be told I didn't know that he was the Crown Prince when I first heard him sing."

"You heard him?" Rhaegar was always careful after his father broke the first harp Aunt Jenny gave him. "He has a beautiful voice, gets it from my mother, Queen Betha." Rhaella's eyes sparkled thinking of her late mother. "I do wish he would enjoy himself more, not be so pained all the time," she said with regret.

The she-wolf furrowed his brows. "Pained?" Imagining Rhaegar in pain filled her with an indescribable sadness, biting her lip.

It was Ser Jaime that answered, falling behind them as they strolled through the camp. "The King rarely takes small council meetings after Duskendale. Rhaegar has taken most of the slack and it's… he's naturally brooding but with the weight of it all it gets worse for him." He looked at Rhaella. "Her Grace as well."

"I'm fine, Ser Jaime." The Queen grinned at Lyanna. "The Lion of Lannister likes to cluck over me, very devoted to his oaths. Reminds me so much of his mother, while Cersei took more after Lord Tywin."

"Lord Tywin is a very successful Lord. Perhaps that isn't a bad comparison to make?" Looking back to the Kingsguard, Lyanna thought she was seeing things. A sparkle in the eye. A worried look for the Queen more akin to how Rhaegar looked at her or her father to her mother than guard to charge. Utter adoration and dare she say... _love?_ "Your oaths are to follow her Grace?"

"Morning, noon, and night, until dismissed of course." Jaime grinned. "The price to pay for the prestigious post, but I'm happy to do it. Only the best to protect the royal family, especially her Grace." _There is that smile again._

From the rather serene expression on her goodmother's face, seemed to Lyanna that Rhaella had no clue - she decided not to say anything. "I guess I'll have to get used to Kingsguards following me," Lyanna ended up saying with a smirk of her own.

Rhaella nodded. "They are sworn to protect the king and his family, my dear, but don't worry. While the history is spotty, Lord Commander Gerold runs a tight ship. The knights are honorable, patient, and understanding. Especially Ser Jaime - I don't know what I would do without him."

The aforementioned knight visibly puffed up like an airskin used to ford across rivers inflating, as if that simple comment was what sustained him. _Love is in the air, I suppose._ "We will have to find a guard for you, Lady Lyanna."

Robert's tongue invading her mouth flashed in her mind, Lyanna suppressing a shiver. "Yes, that would be best. I won't be under the protection of House Stark after the wedding, and I should probably be seen as a member of the royal family."

Glancing at her with an appreciative look, Rhaella chuckled. "You are learning, my dear gooddaughter." Around them, onlookers were falling to their knees as the Queen and future Queen passed by. Lyanna was taking it in stride, not arrogant yet not too colloquial. "You'll be an intelligent Queen when the time comes." Suddenly, the Queen spotted just the choice. "Ser Barristan!"

Walking towards the grounds, simply enjoying and not participating after being dethroned for the top spot at last year's tourney by the Prince, Ser Barristan's attention was caught by the Queen. He jogged over, bowing. "You summoned me, your Grace?"

"Ah, Lyanna. This is the distinguished Barristan the Bold. It is my directive that he be your guard… at least until your brother arrives from Winterfell. I assume you'll want him as your guard?"

A smile formed on Lyanna's face. If anyone deserved a position on the kingsguard it was Benjen. _He'll be ecstatic at this opportunity._ Benjen always wanted to be a knight like Aemon Targaryen or Duncan the Tall. But her mind drifted back to the here and now - another legend standing in front of her. "Ser Barristan, your reputation precedes you." She curtsied. "I'd be honored to be your charge."

This one… Barristan took an immediate liking to Lyanna Stark. While most highborns looked down on their guards - especially kings and royals - the future Queen curtseyed to him. He bowed deeply. "The honor is mine, Princess."

Falling behind her beside Jaime without issue, the conversation continued with Ser Barristan now present. "I think I would also like to know the famous Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur."

"Oh?"

Both kingsguards laughed. "We all adore your betrothed, Lady Lyanna, but Ser Arthur. He and the Prince are the closest of friends. Dunk and Egg returned." Barristan explained after Lyanna furrowed his brows. "Ser Duncan the Tall and King Aegon V. They were inseparable - Rhaegar and Arthur are like that. Elia also grew up with the Dayne siblings, s you'll see a lot of him."

"That is good, and I do think my Lady in waiting is smitten with him."

Jaime snorted. "I would pay a million golden dragons to see the she-bear make Ser Stuffy break his vows of celibacy." Barristan rolled his eyes while both ladies laughed.

Finally back in a good mood as they approached the tourney grounds, her mind was already turning in matchmaking plots. "Ser Stuffy. I'll have to tell her that."

"Ignore my youthful brother in arms, my Lady," Barristan offered, though the knight's eyes twinkled with mirth. "I shouldn't be saying this, but Ser Arthur is partial to silk dresses and ponytail hairstyles."

"I'll keep that in mind for Lady Mormont, Ser Barristan."

Worries about being accepted into House Targaryen were apparently all for naught.

* * *

It was the final day of the King's Tourney, held months early in the twilight of winter to celebrate the two and twentieth nameday of the Crown Prince. A glorious event, filled with free food and drink for all visitors "by the goodness of his Grace, Aerys Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Seven Kingdoms." Over ten thousand smallfolk from as far as Lannisport and Gulltown had arrived, most of them gathered in the hastily built stands surrounding the jousting grounds to watch what was gearing up to be one of the best competitions of the century. Rumors of the Knight of the Laughing Tree vanishing into thin air and the betrothal announcement only added to the mystery of the event, helmed by the coming defense of the Crown Prince's title against the Lord of Storm's End.

Upon the arrival of the Targaryen Queen and the future Princess Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, the already loud masses grew thunderous with applause for the two of them. Beautiful women the envy of all present, they received the boundless love of the smallfolk.

Lyanna, to her credit, handled it all with a regal sense of aplomb and decorum. Waving to the smallfolk with a wide smile - drawing further adoration. Entering the royal box to the rising high Lords and Ladies, Rhaella motioning for Lyanna to sit right next to her. A huge message concerning her placement as a member of House Targaryen. "You're family, Lyanna," Rhaella told her with a smile.

The she-wolf beamed. "This is my first tourney. Are they always like this?"

Jaime shook his head. "No, most are only for highborns. The King's Tourney is one of a kind." He smirked. "Good choice for your first, too. You'll get to see the Crown Prince kick ass today." All the Kingsguards were completely loyal to their Dragon Prince - as was Lyanna.

And his mother. "He's the favorite to go to the final tilt," commented Rhaella. "Him and Lord Baratheon." She noticed Lyanna's face darkening. "Is everything alright dear?" the Queen gently asked her future gooddaughter.

Lyanna put on a fake smile, not wishing to ruin the day with her problems. "I'm fine."

Rhaella shared a quizzical look with Jaime and Ser Barristan. "My Lady," the older knight said with concern. "I believe something is truly bothering you. Ser Jaime, her Grace, and I can keep a secret."

Sighing, Lyanna lowered her voice. "Robert Baratheon…" She closed her eyes, the memory of what had happened rushing back. Making her just feel dirty. "Before you arrived... he tried to force himself on me." An unbidden feeling, of betraying Rhaegar by not ending the conversation earlier or fighting him off quicker… it caused a tear to fall down her cheek.

As for her companions - Rhaella gasped softly while both Jaime and Barristan narrowed their eyes. "How far did he go?" Jaime asked with a tone that was frighteningly similar to Brandon's. Robert's… escapades, were known in court, and while it was shocking that he did do this, it didn't truly surprise them - the fact that he did it to the Crown Princess to be was.

"Just a kiss... he did it before, when we first met. It wasn't rape…" Their conversation was hushed, none of the other lords catching it over the roar of the crowd. "More like he expected me to let him."

Jaime was furious, running a hand through his coffered hair to calm himself. he very much believed that women deserved to be treated with respect. Glancing over at the Queen, she silently blazed with fury. "I wont say im surprised. The oaf already has a bastard in the eyrie, and gods knows how many more."

"He won't harm you again, Lyanna," Rhaella said firmly, taking her hand. "Not while you're in our protection. Ser Barristan?"

The old knight only nodded. "No one gets near Lady Lyanna without me being there."

"Good." Gingerly, Rhaella hugged Lyanna close. The daughter of the North reciprocating, unable to resist the motherly hug denied her since her own mother's demise. What was it about the Targaryens that she couldn't help but love them?

Little do they know that Ned heard every word as he was coming up to the royal box several paces ahead of his brother and father… Mouth going dry, hands trembling with both anger and self-loathing at the story Lyanna had told the Queen. Barely able to speak, he forced himself to not say anything, yet. "My Queen," he said, bowing.

All four turn to see the spare stark heir. "Greetings Lord Stark."

Ned smiles and then hugged his sister close. "Love you, Lya," he murmured, voice hoarse with emotion.

Unsure of where that came from, Lyanna nevertheless reciprocated. "Love you too, Ned." Wordlessly, Ned took his seat while Brandon crushed Lyanna in a tight embrace, joined by Cat and their father. Only the sight of the beautiful Lady Cersei could knock him out of the puddle of malaise he had stepped in.

Finally, the King arrived. Surrounded by guards and followed by the bounding Prince Viserys, on cloud nine for being so close to his father, Aerys took his seat with nary a word. Ser Oswell moving to the King's side, whispering in his ear, Aerys nodded and waved him off. Glaring at the herald. Scrambling to gather his bugler, the man cleared his voice. "Presenting! His Grace the Crown Prince and Lord of Dragonstone, reigning champion of the King's Tourney! Rhaegar of House Targaryen!"

A roar undulated through the crowd as Rhaegar galloped onto the field atop his black thoroughbred war stallion Moondancer, clad in full plate armor of a high knight but free of a helm. Silver hair blowing in the wind. Moondancer suddenly rearing, the Prince held his mount expertly, holding tight and waving to the crowd - which they absolutely loved based on the unadulterated screaming that drowned out all other sounds. Lords and knights were largely a mixed bag, but the thousands of smallfolk that gathered were firmly in adoration of the Dragon Prince.

As was Lyanna, her gaze never leaving the magnificent figure of her betrothed. While not the Valyrian armor he had worn the night before - that she had greatly enjoyed undressing him out of - Rhaegar cut a dashing figure in anything. The plates slim and not the bulky iron houses that many knights wore, hugging his toned figure. And then there was his silver hair, silky and sparkling in the powerful sunlight. Framing his gorgeous face. _Oh yes, I am a lucky woman._

"My Lady Stark." Blinking, Lyanna looked up to see Rhaegar right in front of her, that dazzling smile that turned her to jelly beaming at her. _How did…_ He must have greeted his father and mother without her even noticing. "Would you do me the honor of offering me your favor?" Lyanna was sure a bright red blush adorned her cheeks.

Unable to not be a cheeky fuck, Brandon produced a grey ribbon. "You can wear my favor, my Prince," he said in a ridiculous falsetto. The entire royal box erupted in laughter. Jon Arryn guffawing along with the Kingsguards, Mace Tyrell chortling, Rickard and Rhaella laughing merrily, Ned chuckling softly, and even Cersei Lannister unable to stop a giggle.

Only the King himself watching with a blank stare… and Lyanna didn't laugh, glaring at her brother. Smacking him about the head. "Shut up." The crowd loved it. Turning back to Rhaegar - who was laughing himself atop his horse, she took out a small strip of blue silk and gave it to him. "Keep safe, my Prince."

"With the favor of the She-Wolf of Winterfell," Rhaegar announced loudly, though the affection in his violet eyes was only for her. "The gods themselves couldn't strike me down." Lyanna fought from swooning while he tied the silk to his wrist, the King beside her audibly groaning and rolling his eyes. No sentimentality from him. Rhaella, however, was all smiles, hugging her once Rhaegar was trotting off to the field.

Overcoming the surreal feeling of being the archetypal maiden in the long ago epics, Lyanna leaned over to her brothers. "Who's he fighting first."

"Yohn Royce of the Vale," Brandon replied. "It'll be a good tilt, but a short one."

Ned agreed. "I know Lord Royce. He's good, but no match for the Prince." Her brother's observations were spot on. Royce was a proud and noble figure atop his mare, skilled but not sneaky in any way. The first tilt was a draw, both riders striking a glancing blow on the other's shield. The second tilt was shorter, Rhaegar's lance shattering on Royce's breastplate and sending the Lord of Runestone toppling. Dismounting, Rhaegar helped Royce up, earning cheers from the crowd.

Next joust proclaimed, frowns adorned the faces of the Starks - Ned especially, anger boiling deep within his gut thanks to what he had overheard prior to the start - as Robert Baratheon rode onto the jousting grounds. Giant brown Volantine stallion huffing and pawing at the ground in a restless energy. "He's facing Ser Addam Marbrand," Lyanna murmured..

"Ser Addam is good," Catelyn chimed in, holding Brandon's hand affectionately. "Always wins."

"Hopefully he knocks that smug bastard on his ass," Brandon groaned.

"I doubt it." Four sets of eyes found Ned, the Queen unable not to listen in to the younger brood. "Robert is better." His statement proved accurate when a decisive blow to just below the neck unhorsed Ser Addam almost comically easily, Robert thundering to the end of the fence to roars from the crowd. A handsome, strong Lord - naturally he was a favorite of the smallfolk.

Removing the visor of his fancy stag helm, Robert found Lyanna and blew her a kiss. Lyanna simply wrinkled her nose and didn't give him the satisfaction to even look at him. "This is going to be a long day," Rhaella observed.

And a long day it was. Three further jousts each, and all three ended without ceremony or interest. Rhaegar defeated in quick succession Lord Roland Crakehall, Ser Garth Hightower, and lastly Ser Arthur - though the latter took two tilts to do so. Tethering on his saddle, Arthur nearly managed to hold on but eventually fell, though a quick tuck and roll had him on his feet in no time. Even Rhaegar joined the crowd in the exultant applause, though Arthur's only wave and wink was to… Dacey. Lyanna grinned as the normally tough she-bear flushed a full crimson at the attention from the famed Sword of the Morning. "Looks like Ser Stuffy is smitten," she said to Ser Jaime, causing the latter to laugh.

Her joy at Rhaegar winning was dampened as Robert kept gaining as well. Ser Jeremy Rykker collapsed with a hard blow to the center of his shield. Lord Jonos Bracken quickly followed to the displeasure of the mostly Riverman crowd. Robert faced his biggest foe in Ser Gregor Clegane of the Westerlands, sworn sword to Tywin Lannister. Three tilts and three ties, but on the fourth Robert hit him in the neck and sent the monster crashing to the ground. Everyone would have figured Gregor to erupt in anger at the preening Lord Baratheon, but a warning glare from Cersei caused him to merely stomp off.

Huffing, bored and just wanting the joust to continue so she wouldn't have to hear another one of King Aerys' japes, Cersei felt a pair of eyes staring at her. Turning, there were Eddard Stark's greys, finding her form with a twinkle she had seen many men - but not Rhaegar - give her. Unlike those men, when she looked away a tiny smile adorned her lips.

But now it was here. The final joust of the entire tourney, title of King's Champion and a pot of fifty thousand gold dragons in the balance. Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen of Dragonstone and Lord Robert Baratheon of Storm's End facing off. To say that Lyanna's stomach was twisted into knots would be quite understating it. "May the champions present themselves to their King," barked Ser Gerold, both of them bringing their horses in at a slow trot till they were directly in front of his Grace. "Do you pledge your loyalty and fealty to King Aerys of House Targaryen, Second of His Name?"

"I so swear my undying faith and allegiance," Rhaegar said, bowing in his saddle.

By the coincidences of life, it was Robert, not Rhaegar, that was the closest to Lyanna. Her skin crawled, both Brandon and Rhaella reaching over to clasp her hand in comfort. "I so swear my undying faith and allegiance," Robert repeated, though he wasn't done. "And to the most beautiful maiden in the Seven Kingdoms shall come the Crown of Love and Beauty upon my victory." Many ladies swoon, but Lyanna knew he meant her.

Moondancer snorting, ears pulling back angrily, Rhaegar felt a steaming irritation well within him. _She is not yours, cousin. Lyanna is mine! My wolf!_ As much his as he was hers. Angling his mount to pass right abreast of Robert's, their eyes met. "May the best man win, cousin," he ground out.

Robert sneered. "I do not intend to lose, dragonspawn."

The arrogance only drove Rhaegar's determination a hundred fold. "Neither do I." And with that both highborns spurred their horses to position. Young Garlan Tyrell, Rhaegar's squire, offered him the lance while Meryn Trant handed Robert's to him.

One could feel the electricity in the air, even Aerys. Normally he would prefer to be anywhere but there, but with the bloody helm and shield of the Knight of the Laughing Tree displayed in his quarters, his good mood was infectious. He was actually looking forward for his heir to prove the greatness of House Targaryen. "Start now in the name of your King!" he ordered.

Lances leveling, Robert bellowed and Rhaegar whistled as their horses charged into a thunderous gallop. It was over in a split second, Lyanna unable to watch until Brandon rapped her shoulder. "Glancing blows on their shields. A draw."

Normally a rookie play, these weren't inexperienced hedge knights. "They're sizing each other up," mused Rickard.

Jon Arryn whistled, leaning back. "Better get ready. This is gonna be one for the songs."

Almost before the horn sounded the second tilt, both riders were assaulting each other yet again - no love lost or reluctance to go at each other. This time, Rhaegar and Robert slammed their lances into each other's shoulders. Another draw, another probing tilt. Eyes narrowing under visors as cheers broke into hushed murmurs.

"Rhaegar!" screamed Viserys, jumping up and down to cheer his brother - only for the King to grab him by the back of his neck and force him down.

"Let him cheer his brother," Rhaella asked gently.

Aerys was not gentle. "Quiet woman," he hissed. Rhaella drew back, turning her attentions to Lyanna as both of them watched Rhaegar with worried eyes.

The third tilt proceeded with much anticipation, and it didn't disappoint. Rhaegar shattered his lance upon Robert's shield while Robert slammed his into Rhaegar's shoulder. Robert had absorbed most of the impact with his burly arms, while the Prince's torso was leaning precipitously to the side in a sort of pain, drawing screams of displeasure from the crowd and a gasp from Lyanna. But the tables soon turned, Rhaegar earning his family's smiles by shrugging off the pain and breaking another lance against Robert's shield in the fourth tilt. His weapon hadn't even glanced a blow, but quick horsemanship managed to keep Robert from falling off his stallion.

"My gods," breathed Rickard, watching as both the fifth and sixth tilts ended in draws. Neither contestant was holding back this time. Breaking three more lances and obviously inflicting deep bruises and aching cuts on the other. The crowd was simply loving it all, enterprising sneaks and entrepreneurs taking bets all over the stands.

Lyanna's heart was beating out of her chest, squeezing Rhaella's hand tightly when the sixth tilt ended, Rhaegar taking another blow, this time to the side. This was an exciting match, one for the history books since two great riders of great houses were battling each other in a test of strength and skill - the five tilts of Prince Daemon during his brother's reign were still talked about to this day… every detail - but all she could think about was her beloved Rhaegar.

The herald blew into his bugle. "Prince Rhaegar and Lord Baratheon have secured a sixth draw. Each of them shall be granted a pause to prepare for the seventh tilt."

Fingers digging into the wooden seat below her, now Lyanna was quite worried. Starting to slouch atop Moondancer, Rhaegar handed his broken lance to Garlan, his betrothed catching a grimace as he moved his shoulder. It was clear that the Prince caught some nasty hits from Robert's lance and was tiring. _My Rhaegar…_ She wanted nothing more than to race over to him and kiss the pain away.

On the other side of the tourney grounds, Meryn Trant was handing Robert a new lance - one of sturdy oak often used in battle except for the dulled head. Sweat drenched his brow and tunic underneath the armor, bruised sides aching but determination burned in him. Eyes finding Lyanna's, the Lord of Storm's End smirked and blew a kiss.

Eyes flickering between the infuriatingly smug Robert and the aching Rhaegar, Lyanna's emotions were a swirling cauldron of rage and worry. Then, she felt the Queen's hand on hers. "He'll be alright," whispered Rhaella, a smile on her face. "There hasn't been a knight or Lord he hasn't dismounted in his life." Seeing how concerned the northern beauty was, the Queen had no doubt that her son has found a soulmate. Someone she could see as an actual daughter and a welcome addition to the family.

"Look at Robert, so fucking arrogant," grumbled Brandon, wearing his anger on his face unlike the more dour Rickard and Ned. "He really thinks he can win this?"

Rickard snorted. "Overconfidence will be his undoing, mark my words."

"My brother's gonna win!" Viserys piped up. "Fire and blood!" he shouted into the din.

The King grumbled. "He'd fuckin' better."

Biting her lip, Lyanna found Rhaegar again, the Prince taking his own oaken lance from Garlan. Settling atop Moondancer and refitting his feet into the stirrups. Finding Lyanna out of the crowd atop the royal box, he smiled. Tired and aching, but face serene from the mere glimpse of his beloved before he pulled down his visor once more. Just the one look managed to quell the tempest in Lyanna's stomach… until the horses lined up upon the field.

"Prepare for the seventh tilt!" Horses grunting and stomping their feet, both the dragon and the stag stared at each other through the visors. Sharp antlers and glinting wings atop their helms made them look more monstrous and terrifying than they were, Robert's open rage and Rhaegar's cold fire welling deep within them. They each knew that the next clash would be the last, readying their horses accordingly. Not a sound left the crowd as they watched entranced.

The bugle blared, horses charging.

All disappeared for Rhaegar. Nothing but the beauty of Lyanna urging him forward, the vibrations of Moondancer as he thundered atop the ground, and the figure of his contemptible cousin. Watching the weakened grip of the shield as the opposing lance aim for right at his neck - a devastating blow, but one Rhaegar's mind computed in a mere split second to counter…

The crowd took a sharp intake of breath as the riders closed into each other. Lyanna gasping and Rhaella clasping her hands over her mouth in horror as Robert's lance gunned for the Prince's neck… only for Rhaegar to lean inward, lance hitting his right shoulderplate hard but bouncing off. The Lord of Storm's End wasn't so lucky, weak grip on his shield allowing for Rhaegar's aim to its left side to slide directly into Robert's chestplate. Lance shattering as Robert's bracing his right failed to protect his center.

It played out in slow motion for all that watched - Rhaegar dismounting Robert from his horse on the seventh tilt.

Silence reigned for an interminable moment before Lyanna was out of her seat, whooping like a direwolf as the entire crowd roared with her. The other Starks joined her - as did Prince Viserys - while Rhaella and the other Lords rose, clapping proudly.

Coughing, body pained all over, Robert pulled off his helm. He spat onto the ground, raising off the ground with a groan. Narrowed eyes found the Crown Prince slowing his horse, tall atop the stallion while the crowd hurled their love for him into the air. Fists clenching, he shoved aside young Meryn and the other Baratheon bannermen that moved to tend to him. _Cheating dragonspawn bastard!_

Gently yanking the reins to the left, turning the stallion to face the royal box, Rhaegar couldn't help but bask in the worship of the massive crowd. "DRAGON PRINCE! DRAGON PRINCE! DRAGON PRINCE!" A sea of humanity, throats all bellowing their love for the Prince of Dragonstone. Pushing his visor up, spotting the flurry of activity around the moving and unhurt - besides his pride - Lord of Storm's End, Rhaegar shifted to the royal box. Finding his proud father, mother, and brother. The riveted and slightly jealous looks of his Stark goodbrothers, the admiration of Lord Rickard… and Lyanna. His winter wolf, eyes sparkling and mouth curled in a beaming smile as she was out of her seat. Clapping uproariously, face a blatant display of love and pure adoration. Unable to stop his own smile, Rhaegar waved to the crowd, drawing even louder cheers. He clicked his tongue, horse trotting forward - pulling the reins to guide him close to the box. Directly before his father.

Sunlight glittering off his armor, Lyanna's heart throbbed in her chest as Rhaegar reached just before them. Removing the helm from his head to reveal the same silver locks she loved to tumble over his shoulderplates. "Your Grace," he began. "Honored Lords and Ladies, it was a privilege to compete on this field before you today."

To Lyanna's right, the King rose from his seat, arrogant smirk planted on his lips. He had competed in many tourneys. Liked to boast he won more titles than his older brother, and now he relived such glory through his strapping son. "People of the Seven Kingdoms," he yelled loudly enough for all to hear. "I give you, your champion. Rhaegar of House Targaryen, Lord of Dragonstone, Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms." A quick jerk of the hand brought a pageboy past the empty throne and a giddy Prince Viserys, in his hands a pillow bearing the crown of blue roses. "Present yourself, Prince Rhaegar."

Rhaegar bowed low atop his saddle. Moondancer steady as the perfectly trained war mount he was. "I am unworthy of this honor, your Grace." If there was anything his father enjoyed, it was getting his ass kissed.

Aerys only laughed. "You are the true champion, Prince Rhaegar." In his gaze, the twinkling violet of the man he had once been. "The Young Dragon Reborn, there is no man more deserving of the honor to be crowned champion of the King's Tourney." Taking the pillow from the pageboy, he offered it out for Rhaegar to take. Crowd waiting with baited breath for the favorite part of each and every tourney - the crowning of the Queen of Love and Beauty. A married knight presented it to his spouse, or to the Queen, or the unmarried granting the title to an unattached maiden that took their fancy.

Oh, how every female in the crowd, married or not, wished the handsome Dragon Prince would crown them - from the history of House Targaryen, even wretches like Aegon the Unworthy had no trouble finding mistresses. Many a swoon passed the lips of a maiden who the Crown Prince settled upon, only to turn to a disappointed sigh when he moved on. On the edge of the royal box, Lady Cersei suppressed a pang in her gut, still hoping for the possibility that the Crown Prince would choose her.

But there was only one woman Rhaegar could ever crown. A woman that had in the spate of a week had captured his heart completely. With the approval of his father, his mother and brother, his beloved… Rhaegar couldn't stop himself from beaming with pride. He took the crown and guided his stallion till he stood before Lyanna. His smile was infectious, a similar one finding its way to her lips as his eyes sparkled with love and affection. "Lady Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, my betrothed and future Princess. Would you bring me the greatest honor in accepting this crown and be my Queen of Love and Beauty?"

Confident that he would crown her - hells, there was no chance he wouldn't - Lyanna still couldn't help the bright red blush that adorned her cheeks. Glancing at the Queen, who smiled and tilted her head towards her son. Looking at her father and brothers, all three of them grinning and making the same gesture. Lyanna settled a quick glare, one only gracing her eyes, at Robert's intense stare upon her. You will never have me, Robert. In that moment, she would show him just how true that was.

But upon meeting Rhaegar's gorgeous violet eyes, all other thoughts left her. Standing with the blush still adorning her cheeks, Lyanna approached the edge of the box and leaned forward. Feeling the rose petals resting against the braided crown upon her head. The crowd's roars of approval was far away in her ears, only Rhaegar mattering. Caution to the wind, she threw her arms around his neck and crashed their lips together in their most passionate kiss yet. Lips locking as Rhaegar gladly reciprocated. I am his, and he is mine. Proclaimed to the world.

Rhaella beamed, Brandon whooped, Rickard averted his eyes with a smile, as did the Kingsguards while the crowd bellowed their approval of the public display. Chuckling, Ned's eyes flickered to Cersei, the golden beauty sighing and turning away. The King was less subtle, huffing and retaking the seat upon the throne, withdrawing into himself. Far less subtle was Robert. Throwing off any attempt by his squire or servants to inspect whatever wounds he could have. A stormcloud draped over his head, throwing his helm upon the ground and storming off.

Eyes narrowing, Ned waited for the applause to die down before ducking out of the royal box. Intent on following his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quiet wolf is awakened! Ned has reached the end of his tether.
> 
> Of course Lyanna's happiness at finally being in love with her Dragon Prince was ruined by Robert. Now begins his journey from charming player into the bitter, whoring jerk we see in season 1. I hope I characterized it well, and we'll see things from his pov in later chapters.
> 
> Rhaella to the rescue. Lyanna and her goodmother's relationship is on a good start, and she has a protector now in Ser Barristan. Gotta love the old knight.
> 
> Lol, Brandon's little joke.
> 
> The tourney was one for the ages. While Robert was always gonna lose, he's as skilled as Rhaegar so it was gonna take a brutal slog to get there. But finally Lyanna gets the famous crown of winter roses! Only no need to be cautious.
> 
> Next up, Ned confronts Robert. More comments, quicker I update :D


	13. Moment of Bliss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone. Happy New Year, and first update of 2020!
> 
> I got a guest review on Cersei/Ned, and I just want to elaborate on some things. Yes, Cersei grew up entitled and bratty. Many highborns did (I don't know anything about a murder, so for poetic licence I'm not including that in the background), and Tyrion himself did some pretty naughty things that caused people to be humiliated and flogged. If he can be portrayed as a protagonist, so can Cersei. She hasn't gone down the ultimate path that led her to being the Mad Queen (under no circumstances would Daenerys get that title - Fuck D&D) until marrying Robert and bedding Jaime. Her father raising her entitled can be reversed with the right man. Relax and enjoy the ride.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

"Come with me, my Prince." With the thunderous cheers of the smallfolk, obsequious deference of ass-kissing lords and ladies, and the thumping snacks and grins from the Targaryen bannermen, it was a miracle that Lyanna has managed to wrest Rhaegar away from both the tourney field and the planned feast in his honor. But here they were, in his chambers. Lyanna's mouth crashing against his the moment the door shut. Only a blind fool would miss the knowing grins on Barristan and Arthur's faces, but faced with her handsome warrior betrothed, the she-wolf didn't bother to care.

Hands automatically moving to her deliciously thin waist, Rhaegar could only offer the weakest of protests. "Lyanna…" If she continued, by the old gods and the new he wouldn't be able to control himself.

But direwolves proved as stubborn as dragons. "Fuck, you were so sinfully handsome out there." Dainty fingers moved to untie the laces of his armor with the skill of a seasoned squire, mouth moving to the tight muscles of his lower neck. "My King's Champion, let your she-wolf reward you for your victory.

The image of the northern beauty, blue dress clinging to every curve and grey eyes black with lust, it was the crown of winter roses perched on her chestnut locks that caused all of Rhaegar's caution to melt away. Giving into his lust as he brought their lips together once more. Hands growing frantic to strip armor and yank down fabric to expose breasts and cunts.

The two young lovers were starved for each other - not having enjoyed their beloved carnally since the night in the abandoned cabin. After plundering her mouth Rhaegar blazed a trail down Lyanna's cheek, chin, and neck. Breeches tightening from how her moans played him like he did his harp. Needing more of those moans. Pieces of his armor clanked upon the floor, the Prince too far gone to care upon meeting her pert breasts. Creamy with light pink nipples capping them. "You're perfect," he breathed, taking them in his mouth.

Lyanna grasped Rhaegar's silver curls, electricity shooting to her core. It was too much, too intense, but somehow she just couldn't stop. "Give me pleasure, my Prince. Take me to the stars…" She felt his hands yank up the skirts of her dress, underclothes quickly discarded so he could feast upon her.

Gasping, moaning, bucking her hips against his face, Rhaegar quickly brought Lyanna close to her climax. Bathing himself in her taste. World shrunk to just pleasuring this woman. Looking up, Rhaegar met Lyanna's breathtaking eyes. Unable to tear himself away as he continued to attack her folds.

Those violets… her love's. Lyanna held Rhaegar tight to her, wordlessly begging to make her cum. To wash the vile feeling of Robert's touch and tongue with his welcome passion. She-wolf her lip to ride the climax that washed over her. Coating the beautifully sculpted face in her own juices. Speaking his name with reverence, she leaned down to grasp his head. Yanking him back till they were kissing desperately. Flipping him over. Suddenly overcome with an urge to provide him with the same pleasure. Unbuckling his breeches. Freeing a part of him that made her mouth water. _So big… belongs to me…_ Hoping her inexperience didn't show, Lyanna lowered her mouth on him - initially hesitant but driven faster from how he weaved his fingers in her hair and urged her on. Begged her for release which she gladly gave him.

Unable to disturb the crown of winter roses that so framed the beautiful, sinful angel that so ravaged him, one hand fisted by his side while the other reached to the crown of her head to grab at her hair. "Lyanna… _ñuha zokla…_ fuck… fuck… fuck."

_Yes, yes, yes…_ His seed erupting out to coat her mouth and throat, Lyanna knew that there was no other man she would ever crave this violently. _Gods, I am lucky._

* * *

"Lord Stark!" Not used to being addressed by his father's title, Ned didn't even register until a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he found Howland Reed with a concerned look. The bruises from the encounter Lyanna told him about were starting to heal, but still were quite glaring. "You left in a hurry…"

His eyes narrowed, fists clenching. "Did my sister ask you to come after me?" Not even Lyanna would stop him on his quest.

Howland shook his head. "No, Lady Mormont did. Lady Stark… she's currently joining the Prince with speaking to various Lords and Ladies - the way you stormed off, we want to make sure she doesn't have any further worries."

Rolling his eyes, Ned turned and continued on his path. Scowl on his face and not stopping for anyone. "She won't have any future worries when I'm done with my cunt of a friend."

The Lord of Greywater Watch jog after him, legs pumping to keep up with the taller Stark's stride. "I know that you're angry about Robert…"

"Dacey tell you that too?" Ned laughed, though the humor didn't reach his eyes. "Appears everyone knew about this except me." _You're a fuckin' fool, Ned._

"She didn't want you or Brandon… well, mostly Brandon to do anything rash." That made some sense - their brother would be marching over with a sword and spear had he been the one to overhear Lya's conversation with the Queen. "Engaging with Lord Baratheon won't solve anything."

Still stomping forward, Ned turned a quizzical eye. "Why in seven hells do you care, Lord Reed?" The Reeds were crucial bannermen, but unlike the other young highborns they largely kept to themselves in Greywater Watch - none of the Stark brood had much of a deep friendship with him.

Howland was silent for a moment, Ned's searching eyes sensing his mind whirring. "She… she helped me. Avenge my honor."

"How would…?" Suddenly Ned's eyes widened, recognition inside them. _Fainting… having to sleep in the Mormont tent… not having seen her for hours yet who shows up and disappears to challenge the knights of the same squires that…_ "Lyanna, she was…"

"Don't say it out loud, please," Howland whispered. "I heard from some household guards that the King is out for blood - the… person's blood. If this gets out…"

"My lips are sealed." Wild, kind, honorable Lyanna. Willing to defy a King simply to see justice done, yet he couldn't even see… _I brought Robert to her… I must be the one to finish it._ "What I need to do doesn't involve that, so if you'll excuse me…"

The Stormlands portion of the tourney camp was bustling, many having followed their Liege Lord off the field. It didn't take long for Ned to catch a familiar face. "Ah, Ned, what brings you here?" Beric Dondarrion asked, smile on his face. He had won the racing crown, so had nothing to complain about.

The second Stark son wasn't in the mood for chit chat. "Where's Robert?"

Beric raised an eyebrow before pointing to the Maester's tent. "He was just being treated for his bruises. Maester Villers just ducked out to fetch some poltuces…" The Lord of Blackhaven was cut off when Ned - red in his eyes - stormed to the tent. Howland trailing after him. This will not be good…

Lord Robert Baratheon was bare-chested, seated in the middle of the tent with bandages and poultice-soaked rags wrapped around his arm and torso. He looked like he'd been put through the ringer, but his face held not pain. Rather a seething, boiling anger and bitterness that Ned hadn't truly seen before. Robert did have a temper, but it was more in the gregarious nature of tavern brawls - this was closer to that of a psychopath.

Not that Ned cared at the moment. A direwolf held their emotions, but when the dam burst there was no stopping the wolf's blood from going on a rampage. "You fucking prick!" he hissed.

Instead of shock - as both Ned and Howland expected - Robert simply exploded. The rage having built within him since the joust… hells, since Lyanna smacked him with the book just all spilling out. Charging like the great warriors of his house since the days of the first Storm King. "Me? Me! What the fuck about you, Ned?!" Mindless of his injuries, he stood. Half a head taller than the northerner and far bulkier. "You come here screamin' at me when it was you that stood up there with the dragonspawn cunts condoning the forced sale of your sister?!"

"Oh, don't play the fucking victim here, Robert!" Just having caught up, Beric not far behind, Howland gaped. Eddard Stark almost never cursed, the epitome of a gentleman. He almost never yelled either, yet here he was. A snarling direwolf cornering a mighty stag. "You just couldn't stay away from her, you couldn't listen to me, could you?"

"She's my wife, Ned! My betrothed, my love…!"

He looked disgusted. "What love?! You don't know what the fuck love is! You 'love' every whore and milkmaid who bats her eyelashes at you." He jabbed a finger right on Robert's chest. "Tell me, is it just Mya Stone or do you have other bastards out there that I don't know about?"

"I don't have to justify my sexual prowess to you, Ned," Robert sneered back, rage within him only stoked higher and higher. "But Lyanna is no peasant girl. I had my fun with them, but she will be my wife. My Lady of Storm's End… I'll treat her like a fucking princess and don't you dare say I won't!"

Jaw dropped, trembling at the gall of his supposed friend. Ned's eyes narrowed dangerously. "If you wish to treat her as a princess, then why did you…" Voice low and menacing like a growl, suddenly he roared. "...Fucking force yourself on her fucking twice!"

"Go find someone," Howland whispered to Beric.

The Lord of Blackhaven furrowed his brows. "Who?"

"Just find fucking someone."

The screaming match continued. "She wanted it, Ned!"

"You're not that stupid, Robert. I know you can tell when someone says no." He made a fist, wanting to punch the self-righteous face of the man he thought of as his closest friend. But he hesitated, still unwilling to go that far.

From the flicker in his blue eyes, Robert knew exactly what was going in Ned's mind. "You gonna slug me, Ned? Your own friend… we were goin' to be brothers, and you decided to back the dragonspawn rapist that stole Lyanna over me?" His voice was low, tinged with pain and rage.

Surprising him, yet it really shouldn't have at this point, Ned pointed an accusatory finger at Robert. "That is my goodbrother, you are speaking of, and I won't stand for you smearing our pack." Taking a deep breath, Ned stepped away. "Lyanna loves the Crown Prince. She is going to be his bride, not yours. If you don't understand that, I cannot help you, but stay away from her or you'll be sorry." He attempted to turn away, having said what he needed to say.

But Robert wasn't done. Laughing mockingly. "I can't fucking believe it. Eddard Stark, the king of honor." A sneer returned to his face. "Can't face the facts that his father sold his daughter like a Lysene pillow slave to some disgusting old man for a seat on the small council."

Stopping in his tracks, shoulders tensing and fists clenching, in a split second Ned had swiveled around and slammed a left hook right into Robert's jaw, splitting his lip and sprinkling blood over the ground. The Stag was quick on the counter, debilitating right cross connecting with Ned's shoulder. Snarling like a wolf, Ned simply charged, knocking both of them into a table in a tangle of flying fists and knees.

Frozen in place and barely able to walk without pain himself, Howland simply stood there until the clinking of chainmail registered behind him. "What in seven hells is going on here?!" thundered a bewildered Jon Arryn, mouth open in shock as he watched his foster sons going at each other like crazed Sothoryos apes. "Get them apart, now!"

Two Arryn guards and Lord Dondarrion raced in at the command of the Warden of the East, wading into the flurry of fists to break the two highborns apart. It was tough, but eventually Beric was holding Robert back while one of the guards restrained a hissing Ned. "I'll fucking rip off your cock!" Ned sported bruised ribs, an open cut on his forehead, and black eye.

"I'd like to see you try, pretty boy!" Robert shot back. In addition to the tourney injuries. His lip was a bloody mess and there were additional bruises all over his face and shoulders. Both men's knuckles were bloody.

Lord Arryn's fury dwarfed that of the boys once his shock wore off. "What is this?! Are these the two highborn, noble men I raised? That I molded into the epitome of Westerosi Lords?!" His eyes flickered between Robert and Ned, blazing with fury. "Cause all I see are two addled children killing each other over a toy."

Robert wasn't having it. "Fuck this." Pushing Beric off, he pointed at Ned. "The dragonspawn won't have your sister. She'll be mine if it's the last fucking thing I do!" And with that he stormed off, Beric in tow.

"I'll kill you first if you fucking get near Lyanna again!" Ned screamed after Robert, but by then he was gone. Hot blood of battle draining, the pain showed up. "Shit, my face." He rubbed his jaw gingerly, guided by his foster father and Howland into the chair.

"By the old gods and new, what happened, Ned?" For the life of him, Jon Arryn couldn't figure out what got into the two young men. "You and Robert are the closest of friends and now this? As disappointed I am, there is an explanation and it'll be easier to tell me than others who might use it for their own agendas."

Swallowing, wincing as he did, Ned had to admit that the Lord of the Eyrie had a point. "Robert… he forced himself on Lyanna, twice." Even now, after venting his anger with his fists, Ned felt his blood boiling.

If finding them wailing on each other wasn't enough, the stunned expression made itself right at home on Lord Arryn's face. "What… How do you know this?"

"Lyanna told me and Brandon the first time. It was their first meeting and… he apparently got carried away." Ned shuddered with disgust. "The second time was today, right before the joust." A tear fell down his face, unbidden and unavoidable. "I… overheard her… talking to the Queen… gods, I'm such a fool. A horrid fool…"

He felt an arm wrap around his shoulder. His faster father was peering at him, sad, contrite smile on his face. "It's not your fault, Ned… seven hells, it's mine." A deep, heavy sigh left his lips. "Robert… he's always been larger than life. Charming in a bombastic sort of way. That attracts smallfolk girls and daughters of lesser lords like moths to a flame, but I should have realized that a free-spirited wolf like Lyanna wasn't a good fit for him."

Ned hung his head, trapped in his hands. "Looks like we both made that mistake." The maester then arrived, beginning to poke and prod the Stark spare heir as he cleaned him up. "Shit... " Ned winced at the stinging poultice. "Still… never expected Robert to actually force himself on her."

"I doubt he thought she would reject him. In all my years of raising him, Robert's never been rejected as far as I know, and it seems that he's had more of a reach than I would have thought." It wasn't the first time Jon Arryn - despite loving the Baratheon boy as if he were his own son - wished that the younger Stannis had been the firstborn. The lad was dour and uncompromising, but actually had a skill for ruling. "I'll talk to him, Ned. A man who has friends would never be alone in his life, so you shouldn't throw them away unless they aren't worth saving."

A grumble left Ned's lips. "I'm not sure it's worth saving at this point."

Jon Arryn frowned. "Do not say such things, I raised you better than that." Running a hand through his close cropped chin beard, the Lord of the Eyrie sat next to his foster son. "Leaving aside your friendship with Robert, do you really wish to cost your goodbrother the loyalty of the Stormlands? House Baratheon has been faithful to the crown since the days of the conquest."

Biting his lip, Ned had to admit that Lord Arryn spoke the truth.

"Seems you and your sister will have a lot to learn when dealing with southern politics, Ned." A smile then returned to his face as he patted the northerner on the back. "I'll have to be in King's Landing for the wedding anyway. Elbert can manage things from the Eyrie for me, so I'll accept your request."

"I can't ask you to do that, my Lord." While Ned could think of no one better than his foster father to guide him and Lyanna through the rough and tumble world of court politics while still keeping their souls, he didn't wish to impose on him any further.

The older man waved him off. "Don't be daft. I'm happy to do it, and my heart will rest easy knowing that you and Lyanna are well-equipped in court. Given that your brother is to be the Lord of Winterfell, you'll need to find a place in the world and assisting your goodbrother as a councillor or even Hand could be it." A sly grin formed on Jon Arryn's face. "Perhaps you'll even find a lady you fancy."

A bright red blush formed on Ned's cheeks that dwarfed the bruises. "One thing at a time, my Lord." _I may have already found her…_ But daughters of Lord Paramounts never married second sons.

* * *

"The wedding will be held in the Sept of Baelor," announced Lord Hand Jon Connington at the head of the table. Black Harren's council chamber was as large as his inferiority complex could demand built. As such, the four men and one woman currently within it made the accommodations look paltry and empty indeed. "It is a must, Lord Stark," he told the Master of Laws. "Propriety demands it, and it's where we can fit all the guests from all across the Seven Kingdoms."

"An affront to Northern customs… or at least that is what many of the Northern Lords will think." If Rickard Stark was being honest - while he intended on making his mark as Master of Laws, the wedding of his daughter to the Crown Prince came first - Lyanna wouldn't care if the wedding was in a quarry if she was marrying Rhaegar Targaryen. But tradition died hard. "Our faith in the Old Gods is part of our identity…"

Rhaegar would have liked nothing more than to give Lyanna her wish to marry in the Winterfell Godswood, but he was the Prince and she would be his Princess. Other factors had to be considered. "Lord Stark, the Faith is already up in arms over this - Maegor taking a second wife was what set into motion the Faith Militant Rebellion. We know enough about the High Septon to buy him off, but an official wedding outside of a sept would simply be too tough to swallow for them."

"And there are no heart trees in the Godswood." Queen Rhaella hit the nail on the head, as she was wont to do. "It wouldn't mean what a proper Godswood wedding would, if I know the traditions of the Old Gods well. A royal progress to Winterfell in the future could fix that - in front of the entire North and Northern Lords." Her son could have hugged her tightly. While Aerys barely liked anyone attending Small Council meetings, Rhaella was barred for 'being a weak woman.' Half the time, Rhaegar felt both his mother and his wives - well, wife and wife to be - were smarter than the rest of them.

"My wife is of Hightower blood," said Mace Tyrell. The entire Small Council gathered here, hammering out various issues before journeying back to the capitol. "The Faith will be riled about this… such is a wise decision, your Grace."

Rubbing the back of his neck, Jon Connington gave Rhaegar an apologetic look before continuing. "I wouldn't worry about the Faith, at least in the near future… I think we should wait several moonturns before the wedding.

"I'm not going to wait," Rhaegar fumed. Gods, he ached without his Lyanna by his side. _How had I truly existed without her all these years?_ Aside from times spent with his mother and children - along with the few happy moments with Elia not ruined by his father or their duty - his life had been truly empty without her. _I can't wait one second more._ "Give one week for her to be introduced at court and then we're going ahead. I'll deal with the backlash afterwards."

Connington cleared his throat. "Well, my Prince. The backlash has already begun." The Hand unfurled a note, handing it to Rhaegar. "This was sent from Sunspear several days ago. Lord Yronwood personally delivered it to me for the Prince's eyes."

Snatching the sheaf of parchment, Rhaegar peered at the elegant scrawl.

_Prince Rhaegar Targaryen,_

_I write to you not only as the Prince of the Seventh Kingdom but also as your brother by marriage the eyes of the Seven. The news of the Stark girl has only just reached myself at the Water Gardens, and it took days for my initial response to temper enough to write this letter to you._

_As a noble Prince and loving brother, I am grievously insulted at your attempt to disgrace my sister by forcing her to endure the indignity of you taking a second bride. After centuries of war, our alliance was sealed through marriage between our ancient houses. Sealed through marriage once again between yourself and my sister the Princess Elia, only now such alliance is close to the breaking point._

_My brother, Prince Oberyn, is journeying to King's Landing for this so-called wedding and to ensure my sister's continued position as the future Queen and my niece and nephew as the sole progeniture for the Iron Throne._

_I trust that you shall know what is proper for House Targaryen._

_Doran Martell, Prince of Sunspear_

Rhaegar clenched his fists. "That jumped up cunt has the fucking nerve…"

"Even still, with the King's desire to prevent Tywin Lannister from obtaining support to… plot against him..." Each of the Small Council knew by now the motivations behind the King's desire for Lyanna's hand - even Rickard. "We can't afford for this to alienate Kingdoms when we're trying to secure a greater alliance."

"Five Kingdoms, Dorne, Reach, North, Vale, and Riverlands," Rhaella listed off, growing concerned. "Combined with the Lords sworn directly to House Targaryen, no force would ever challenge it… but if we lose Dorne in the fallout…"

The fact that both of them fell madly for each other was a delightful bonus to some, a headache for others. Connington was one. Rhaegar had his suspicions as to why, but did not wish to divulge them out of concern for his friend. As much as they quarreled recently, Rhaegar was loyal. "If you wed Lady Stark without at least giving the Lords Paramount the opportunity to air out their grievances then another rebellion could brew."

Rickard had his hands crossed over his chest, but even he seemed to agree. "I'd consider the Stormlands already alienated, then. My daughter wouldn't want the Crown Prince weakened for mere impatience."

"No one is suggesting that, Lord Stark," replied Rhaella. "But dragging things out won't make much of a difference if sedition and rebellion are already firmly set in motion."

"I am behind the crown wholeheartedly, your Grace," Mace wheezed, coughing as he tried to speak and chew on a pastry at the same time. "But… why would… Lord Baratheon be alienated? He is the foster son of Lord Arryn and the Prince's cousin."

Meeting his goodfather's eye, Rhaegar sensed a cold anger, and… guardedness. _Is there something he's not telling me… wait, did the cunt try to force himself on Lya again?!_ Rhaegar forced himself to take a breath. If neither Lyanna, Rickard, Brandon, or Ned told him, then there must have been a good reason. "Let's just say he's affronted by the breaking up of betrothal negotiations that Lord Stark had with him prior to my father's decree." That placated Mace.

For Jon Connington, he raised a fire-colored brow but didn't breach the subject. Knowing him, he'd do his own digging. "If that is the case," he finally said after a modest contemplation, "Then we cannot afford to lose Dorne." He pointed to the parchment. "Three moonturns. Enough to get Lady Lyanna known at court, make some… arrangement with Elia." Rhaegar narrowed his eyes, not taking kindly to how Connington talked about his wife. The Lord of Griffin's Roost didn't heed the glare. "And find some way to placate Prince Oberyn. Buy him a whore, get him drunk… fuck him if you have to." The last came with a bit of bitterness.

"Wait." Rickard looked confused. "The second Prince of Dorne is a buggerer?" He curled his face in disgust - outside of Dorne and King's Landing, attitudes were still old-fashioned and anti-libertine. The North most of all. "And you tolerate that degeneracy?" The Crown Prince didn't fail to notice how Connington stiffened.

It was Queen Rhaella that moved to end the conversation. "It won't take long for Prince Oberyn to arrive, and court introductions are quick. Perhaps a shorter engagement would work?" She looked poignantly at her son.

"One moonturn." Rhaegar held up a single finger. "One. Does that work for everyone?" From the lack of disagreement, it seemed a proper compromise. Oberyn would certainly arrive from Dorne long before then. "Good. We're dismissed. I'll speak with you about the dealings with Lord Baratheon later, Jon." As Connington offered a small smile, Rhaegar was glad that their friendship was still there. Jon was a good man, one he was glad to have as an ally.

His mother hugged him close. "Go spend the day with your lady love. Don't waste the time you have." A kiss on the cheek and she was off.

Soon, it was just he and his goodfather left in the meeting room. "I don't like having to deal with Prince Oberyn, Rhaegar. People with loose morals such as that cannot be trusted."

Rhaegar sighed. "My goodbrother is a rather... eccentric individual. He likes to… spread his seed where he may, regardless of the field. We tolerate him for his intelligence and his loyalty to family." The Prince didn't necessarily like such conduct, but who was he to judge given his family's… transgressions in the eyes of many in Westeros.

"I don't want my family exposed to such depravity."

"Do not worry, he's very discrete." Last time Rhaegar saw him, he at least closed the door when half of Chataya's visited his chambers. A form of modesty, he had to point out. "But nevermind about Oberyn, I'll deal with him. Did something happen with Lord Baratheon?"

Now it was Rickard's turn to look uncomfortable. Gaze dropping to the floor, not wanting to meet Rhaegar's. "If you're asking me that, Lyanna told you what she wished for you to know."

A pit formed in Rhaegar's gut, half worry and half dragonfire. "What did he do to her?" His voice was low, a menacing quality.

"It's not my place to say…"

"Bullshit. Tell me what he fucking did."

Reaching up, the Lord of Winterfell grabbed his prospective goodson's shoulders in a fatherly squeeze. "My Prince… listen to me. You're already dealing with too much - as your councillor and future goodfather, dealing with a rebellious Stormlands shouldn't be added to your plate. It's a Stark matter and House Stark will deal with it." Rhaegar didn't look convinced. "You love my daughter, I can tell you do. You just need to trust her to tell you what you need to know."

Tension building, Rhaegar gradually calmed down. "Trust Lyanna." He did, he trusted her with his life.

"Good. Now try and make sure she doesn't get into a catfight with the Princess Elia." A rather rare grin spread on Rickard's face. "You're already in enough hot water with Dorne." Even the Prince couldn't help a chuckle at that.

* * *

"Alright, Brandon, I think you are japing me." Fire roaring in the hearth of the private dining chamber, an intimate setting that could hold about a dozen people maximum, was at only half that.

Brandon Stark held up his palms. "Hand to gods, my Prince. Why would I lie to you?"

While initially disliking the maltish bitterness of the northern ale, at the urging of his insistent and beautiful betrothed Rhaegar had kept at the cups - developing a taste for it after all. By the fourth cup, he was wonderfully buzzed. "It just doesn't make sense to me. Are you sure there aren't any direwolves south of the wall?" Rhaegar's words were slightly slurred, but he was still upright and lucid. Most would have collapsed by now, but the dragon blood burned through food and alcohol like no other. _Imagine how much food Aegon the Unworthy had to eat to fuck him up that badly._

"I give up with this lad," Brandon huffed, throwing his hands up dramatically. "Father, please put me out of my misery."

Smirking as he sipped at the ale, Rickard leaned over to tap his goodson on the back. "There haven't been any direwolves in the north since… hells, I think Brandon Snow was the last to bond with one."

Beside Lyanna, the Queen furrowed her brows. "Was that the one who nearly snuck into Aegon the Conqueror's camp and drive arrows into the eyes of the dragons."

Rickard looked impressed. "You know your histories, my Queen. Now I know where your son gets it from."

"Arrows into the eye of a dragon, simple arrows." Rhaegar shook his head. "The Dornish had some contraption to do the same thing to Meraxes, and even that had to be the length of a tall man."

"Weirwood arrows, my Dragon," Lyanna replied, rubbing his knee under the table. "They have magical properties, and I wouldn't doubt that the wood does too."

Rhaegar nodded, pursing his lips. "I'm suddenly less confused as to why Bloodraven carried a bow made of the same material."

"His mother was of House Blackwood," shrugged Brandon. "Only house south of the Neck that worships the old gods. The hill tribes of the Vale still do, but I wouldn't count them a proper house." Pitching back the mug, he drained a third of it. "One of the reasons we Starks don't like going south. Not very comfortable with the Faith of the Seven."

"House Targaryen feels your pain," Rhaegar said, causing a chorus of laughs from the Starks and his mother… Lady Catelyn being the exception, merely sipping at her wine. The only one not drinking the northern ale. That didn't escape the Prince's notice. "Our history with the Faith… they say that Baelor the Blessed and Aegon II were the only ones that had their unwavering support."

"One a crazed zealot that followed everything they said and the other a half-Hightower under the thumb of the patron of the Faith." Lyanna shook her head. "Sure, the Faith draws from the best pool of Kings." A soft hand tapped Rhaegar's shoulder, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "I should take you to the Godswood of King's Landing. No weirwood trees, but I'll still teach you the ways of the Old Gods."

He turned to smile at her. "For you, I'd do anything." She beamed and leaned against him, Rhaella smiled widely while Brandon and Rickard looked pleased with their sister's soon to be husband. Catelyn… while she was leaned into the Stark hier, it was clear she was quite uncomfortable. Lips moving oh so slightly - a silent prayer. _She loves Brandon, but would that be enough to tolerate the North?_ Rhaegar had his doubts, but people could surprise.

A knock on the door found Ser Jaime - he, Ser Barristan, and Ser Arthur on duty and sharing in the merriment - opening it, only to reveal a bruised Ned Stark. "Sorry I'm late," he mumbled, going straight for the pitcher of ale and draining it.

Brandon was the first to rise up, overcoming the shock at the state of his brother. "Fuck being late. What in seven hells happened to you?"

"Ned!" Lyanna was by his side, running a hand along his black eye. "Gods…" Suddenly remembering how he had stormed off after the joust, it was understood. "Robert?"

He snorted. Nearly sputtering as he drank the bitter liquid. "Aye. Robert." It didn't take long for him to tell the story, Lyanna confirming it. By the end, Brandon was seething. "I'll kill the motherfucker."

"I'll join you." Rhaegar was beyond caring at this point. Blackfyre would taste the King's Justice if he had anything to say about it.

"Sit back down, my son," Rhaella ordered. "I won't have you making rash decisions based on your emotions. That's how we got the Blackfyre Rebellions." Furming, it was a pleading look from Lyanna that finally caused Rhaegar to calm down.

The heir to Winterfell was a lost cause, though. "He's gonna wish he was dead by the time I'm done with him…"

"I already took care of it, brother." Ned sat down, leaning back. "He won't bother Lyanna again - Jon Arryn will make sure of that."

"How can you be so sure?" Rhaella didn't want to give an excuse for the Stormlands to rise against the crown, but the obsession their Lord Paramount had for her gooddaughter did worry her. "My sister was married to Robert's grandfather… I know how impetuous a Baratheon can be."

Rickard sighed. "If anyone can get him off our backs, it's Lord Arryn." Perfection was an illusion, but at least he seemed to know all the pieces. "My Prince, I take it that after the wedding, Lord Robert will no longer be a guest at the Red Keep?"

"Consider it done, Lord Stark. Father never liked him anyway." His father didn't like anyone, but that was beside the point. A solution want of justice, but for the sake of peace and politics, had to be done. The rest of the meal was in silence, but the Prince felt Lyanna's hand clasping his for the entire time. In the end, he was still coming out on top.

* * *

"You shouldn't see him." Brandon crossed his arms. "The prick doesn't deserve your sympathy. Or closure."

Catelyn sighed, heart heavy with guilt. "He's practically my brother, Bran. I care for him…"

Groaning, the heir to Winterfell suppressed his urge to throttle someone. There were many worries and concerns that plagued Brandon, most of which were objectively worse, but Petyr Baelish was arguably the most irritating of them all. "He's an insect that is obsessed with you. Don't give him the damn satisfaction to justify his delusions…"

His betrothed cut him off with a gentle kiss on his lips. A kiss that deepened, Catelyn running one hand down the hard planes of his chest while the other guided Brandon's hand to her breast. Brandon growling into her mouth and pressing her against the stone walls outside of the infirmary. Never before did she feel this way. Heart fluttering and core flooding with warmth, the lessons of her Septa against the temptations of the flesh going out the window in the face of Brandon of House Stark. Her greatest sin, her soon to be husband… Gods, she couldn't wait till their wedding day.

By some miracle they had managed to disentangle. Catelyn adjusted her hair and yanked up the collar of her dress to cover the love bite that Brandon so lovingly gave her. "I'll be back soon, Bran." She smiled. "Just remember, I am betrothed to you. Not him, you." That seemed to placate him, the handsome northerner leaning against the wall as she took a breath and entered.

Still confined to bed rest, splints tied to the broken limbs and bandages swathed around his wounds, Littlefinger's sullen frown brightened up at the mere image of Catelyn. "Cat." His smile was genuine and infectious.

Much as she wanted to go back to her childhood and the happy memories with him and her two siblings around the waters of the River Trident, Catelyn willed herself not to. Pursing her lips and looking at Littlefinger with a tiny glare. "Petyr, why did you do what you did?"

His smile faltered. "What are you talking about?" Baelish began to study her closely. A flushed cheek, bits of hair in haphazard whips, and the bare peek of a red mark on her neck… "Is that cunt outside?" The look on her face said it all - even coming to see him, she couldn't keep their passions contained.

"That doesn't matter, Petyr. You had no right to challenge my intended to a duel."

"I had every right. I love you, Cat."

She closed her eyes, restraining her emotions. "You are like a brother to me, Petyr. I love you, but not in the way you wish. I am promised to Lord Brandon…"

"He isn't right for you," Petyr begged.

"...and I love him and only him. I wish not to hurt you, but I will be the Lady of Winterfell. Not your wife, not ever." If she continued then she may fall apart, gazing upon one of the persons she was the closest to. _That Catelyn Tully was close to - you are to be Catelyn Stark._ "I will always support you, but I think it would be unwise for us to see each other for a long while. Goodbye, Petyr."

"Cat… Cat! Catelyn!" But she was gone. Leaving him alone yet again… to go to her betrothed. _To him…_

Something snapped within Petyr Baelish, head throbbing and fists clenching… _Brandon Stark will rue the day..._

* * *

Panting, coming down from their high as Rhaegar rolled off his future wife, he pulled Lyanna close to him. Their hair spread in wild tangles after their intense passions. "Gods…" the Prince managed to breath.

Calming her racing heart, Lyanna leaned up to kiss her Dragon Prince on the chin. "Aye… that was simply divine." Their wedding couldn't come soon enough. Beautiful day in the Riverlands, the afternoon before the Royal Party was to leave for King's Landing, the dashing Targaryen Prince and his stunning Stark betrothed were out for a ride and picnic in the woods. A simple ride and feast of breads, fruits, and cheeses turned to teasing, teasing to japing, and japing to them satiating their hunger for each other. Going as far as they could without depriving her of her maidenhead… Lyanna didn't know how long she could last. Every part of her screamed for the handsome dragon's length finally making her a real woman and filling her up, painting her womb with his seed. "Sing to me, my love."

It was a request he couldn't resist complying with. Driving Lyanna to tears at the close up rendition of Jenny of Oldstones. A gentle kiss led them to swap stories and memories. Each bittersweet tale on his part brought the direwolf's arms tight around her dragon's waist, her Prince's life not that of comfort and splendor. Memories of her own mother gave her different kind of sadness, tempered only by the warmth of Rhaegar as he held her tightly.

"She and father wanted more children," Lyanna finished, wiping the last tears from her eyes. They were propped against a large birch tree, Rhaegar directly against it and Lyanna cuddled into his chest. "I heard him and Ser Martyn speaking about it once, that the pack deserved to have one or two more members."

"I can imagine why," Rhaegar said softly, kissing her hair. It amazed her, that someone so strong and fierce could have such a gentle touch. "Rhaenys and Aegon are the light of my life."

The prospect of two adorable little ones with her betrothed's eyes brought joy to Lyanna. _Not just two…_ "Tell me about them, my Dragon."

A wistful smile formed on Rhaegar's face. His children always gave him happiness even in his darkest moments. "Rhaenys… she's both the blood of the dragon and pure Nymerios Martell, a combination straight from the Seven Hells," he chuckled. "Vivacious, dramatic, and stubborn. A real hellion, but with a heart of gold."

"Sounds like how my brothers would describe me," Lyanna laughed. She couldn't wait to meet her future stepdaughter. "And Aegon?"

"Egg… that's his nickname. He's still a babe but I can tell he's a more quiet one."

"Like his father."

"No, I don't see him brood much. More a gentle quiet, like his mother thank the gods."

She leaned up. "I happen to adore his father's brooding. Makes him…" Lyanna kissed his lips sultrily, taking her bottom lip between her teeth afterwards. "Irresistible." Rhaegar beamed, kissing her languidly. Tongue probing into her mouth, making her mewl with pleasure. "My dragon?"

Having pulled away, Rhaegar peered down at his betrothed. "Yes, Lya?"

"Do you want more children?" He blinked, a quizzical look forming on his face. "I mean… most Targaryens have many, but perhaps you…"

A finger to her lips cut her off. "Oh Lyanna." She really was adorable. "Aegon… I thought he would be my last. Elia, she had a difficult pregnancy with him and Maester Pycelle recommended that she couldn't carry another babe." Rhaegar cupped her cheek, stroking the soft skin with his thumb. "I wouldn't want anything more than to give Rhae and Egg little dragonwolf brothers and siblings." He kissed her forehead, enjoying how she sighed in joy. "How many would you want?"

Sighing again, placing her ear against the gentle thud of Rhaegar's heart, her mind imagined silver-haired sons with grey eyes and raven-haired daughters with her Prince's violets. "Four."

A chuckle. "You've thought about this?"

She swatted his chest lightly. "Two sons and two daughters." Lyanna stretched languidly. "Thought about names as well."

"Care to share with me my future children's names?" _Oh, Lya, you're perfect._

"Well, I always imagined being a Targaryen Princess as a child - granted, that involved swinging Dark Sister atop Vhagar as much as dresses and feasts." Both of them laughed at that. "Visenya, after the great Queen and Lyarra, after my mother." A gentle kiss on her hand made her swoon, knowing Rhaegar's agreement. "And Jaehaerys… after the Targaryen King beloved in the north."

"That still leaves one son unnamed."

"I can't think of a perfect second name, but I will."

So sure of herself, the Prince was greatly enjoying himself. "But why that number?"

"Rhaenyra had five, my mother had four and wanted more… but I hope that I'll be able to count little Rhae and Egg as my daughters as well. Not separate them from Elia, but…" There was no need to elaborate. Everything that needed to be said had been said.

It seemed too soon… hells, it felt like a lifetime had passed since that day Lyanna had seen him singing and he had seen her fighting. _Dragons answer to neither gods nor men._ "I love you, Lya."

She gazed up at him, eyes sparking and smiling from ear to ear. "I love you too, Rhaegar." Without warning, she straddled him, arms wrapping around his neck. "We still have so much to learn of each other, but I have no doubt that what I learn would only make me love you more… my King."

One hand went to stroke her hair. "I feel the same… my Queen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, was Lyanna ever not going to jump Rhaegar after that? ;)
> 
> The Quiet Wolf roars! Frankly, Robert had it coming. He and Ned may still "patch" things up just out of respect for Jon Arryn (Ned still has a soft spot for Robert), but they will never be the best of friends again. Cough, Rhaegar, cough. Had he been some minor lordling, Robert would be dead, but being the Lord of Storm's End insulates him somewhat. Lucky punk.
> 
> Littlefinger... he's gonna pull some crap.
> 
> A moment of bliss for our fav couple. Planning names for their children... so sweet. Missing one though :D
> 
> ñuha zokla - my wolf
> 
> Next up, Lyanna and Elia finally meet :D


	14. The Viper and the Direwolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Unexpected quick update! Including many moments y'all have been waiting for!
> 
> Be sure to check out some awesome stories: Wolves of War by GulfYankee23 (on fanfiction.net), Howl of the Dragonwolves by Elphaba818, The Long Night that Was Promised by Dakkaman777 (on fanfiction.net), Kingdom of Ice and Fire by WhiteWolf04 (on fanfiction.net), and From the Ashes Begin Anew by bykim0120. All of the authors are great guys that have been the best of fans!
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

Horsehide bow scraping along the tight thread of the instrument, the notes of the Rains of Castamere brought contentment to Lord Tywin Lannister's mind. The musician added an extra flair at the end of the infamous song, rumor had that it was composed by Lord Tywin himself. Normally he preferred it the way it was, but this time the tune caught his attention positively. Ending the song, the performer bowed as Tywin clapped three times. "Good job, my friend. Good job."

"Mi'Lord approves?" A smile with several gaps where teeth had once been.

"Casterly Rock has found its new court musician, now please leave me." The musician was practically leaping as he left Tywin to his solitude… well, partial solitude.

"You're cheerier than usual." Lord Loren Payne of Payne Hall - formally Tarbeck Hall - crossed his arms, chuckling. "For once that frown can take a respite somewhere warm while that smile gets to spread its wings."

Normally, anyone who japed with frivolity more accustomed to the court of Lord Tytos rather than himself would find Tywin tossing him out of Casterly Rock with a kick in the ass, but castillan Loren Payne was different. Son of the master-at-arms that taught Tywin how to fight and strategize, faithful bannermen beside him at every battle in the Reyne Rebellion, he earned the right to speak and act without restraint in Tywin's presence. Something the man found more precious than the prized keep of the defeated Tarbecks.

Plus… the pulsing headache that came with collecting the taxes off the houses of the Westerlands lessened in severity whenever he heard the song of his greatest achievement. "Shouldn't you be with your newborn son?"

Loren's smile widened. "I would, but Lenora wants some time with little Pod. She's still bedridden and yet refuses a wetnurse."

"Reminds me of Joanna with the twins." Tywin leaned back, allowing the fond memories to bring him just a smidgeon of joy. It heartened his friend greathly. "Tax revenue is up for the fifteenth year in a row. My bannermen know I am not my idiot father."

"That is good," Payne nodded. "No one wishes to be a Reyne. Castamere is still flooded ruins if I recall correctly."

Dipping his quill into ink, Tywin began scribbling the figures into his ledger. No scribes for the Lord of Casterly Rock - all was done himself. "I've been thinking, perhaps when Cersei finally ceases to be a disappointment and finds a match of her own, I could give Castamere to one of her second sons. Finally have someone loyal in that place."

"What's the use? The Reynes tapped out most of their mines decades ago, and the ones they did have weren't worth much."

"Those are just the ones we know about, Loren. I think the Westerlands have yet to surprise us." A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. "Enter." At the glimpse of the person that had just arrived, whatever joy and contentment he had found disappeared. Headache returning and scowl marring his face. "What is it this time, Tyrion? Moon tea stock depleted again?"

Face bearing the cocky visage of his five and ten years upon the earth, Tyrion Lannister never ceased to drive his father to distraction. "No, the whores of Lannisport are safe from my wandering eye for today at least." Sauntering in on his stunted legs, he pulled up a chair and hauled himself into it. "I just came back from seeing the adorable future Ser Podrick Payne. Tell me, Ser Loren, would your son be able to squire for me when the time comes?"

Loren Payne laughed merrily, reaching out to clasp Tyrion on the back. "I actually am honored… just try to keep him out of all but the most clean of brothels."

Winking at his father, Tyrion nodded. "That promise I may be able to keep."

Tywin groaned. Tyrion was the bane of his existence with the drinking and whoring even at his young age, but the dwarf never giving him the excuse to throw him out into the world. To both Tywin's consternation and odd pride, Tyrion was smart in his escapades. Avoiding scandal with highborn mistresses, always discreet, and not slacking on whatever duties Tywin dumped on his plate. "Can you make your business quick, my son. I am a busy man."

"Ah, but I can, father." Out of his doublet Tyrion produced a letter. "Raven from Harrenhal. In Cersei's handwriting. For once she's not complaining about me." The attempt at a jape cause Loren to smirk but Tywin's face only hardened. "Here, father." _Confirms the rumors, not that father would have noticed._ Tywin Lannister didn't converse with the little people for information.

Grabbing the dispatch from his youngest son, the Lord of Casterly Rock perused it line by line. Certain words and phrases more visible than others.

_...betrothal of Prince Rhaegar…_

_...Lady Lyanna Stark…_

_...appointment to the small council…_

_...Lord Baratheon and Eddard Stark not on speaking terms..._

His face grew pale. Even he didn't imagine that Aerys would be that desperate… under no circumstances did this not involve him, Tywin knew. The small possibility this was some sort of effort to revive ancient Targaryen tradition or as an effort of religious fervor existed, but Tywin didn't hold his breath. "My Lord… what is it?"

"The Crown Prince… he's betrothed to the daughter of Lord Rickard Stark."

Loren blinked. "He'd risk shitting over Dorne? That alliance was the only thing that kept us from rising against him."

"Looks like Aerys is trying to make his son into Aegon the Conqueror." Tyrion laughed. "Two brides, both stunners if I remember. Gods, I wish I was a Targaryen."

Ignoring his son, Tywin rose. "Notify the stewards. We're leaving for King's Landing on the morrow, but send a message to our bannermen to be ready to call the banners at any time."

Dread filled both men. "Are we to go to war, my Lord?" asked Loren.

"I do feel that I cannot be of help in that department," Tyrion bemused, unable to resist being a wiseass.

"At this point… I have no damn clue." And that scared Tywin the most.

* * *

"Rhaenys! Come here!" Biting her bottom lip, Elia fought to keep from trembling. Her beautiful little girl was playing in the inner courtyard of Maegor's Holdfast with her nursemaids, all of whom absolutely adored her. Part of her wished not to disturb her, but with the banners of her King and her husband close approaching - bringing with it the Direwolf sigils of Rhaegar's new bride - preserving Rhaenys' mental stability was more important than even her own sanity.

"If you let your worries continue to consume you, you'll start vomiting blood." Once Rhaenys and her chief nursemaid disappeared in the staircase leading up to the second floor, Elia turned to her lady in waiting. "What's the problem? Your husband is just bringing over your new sister-wife. Not a large issue." At times, Elia didn't know whether Ellaria was being serious or trying to jape her. The two blended seamlessly together.

In any case, she did not appreciate it. "I am in no mood right now."

Ellaria rolled her eyes. "That's the damn point. You know as well as I do that only fussy Septons and their ilk actually care about this."

"House Targaryen hasn't practiced this since Maegor, and it didn't go well for him or Aegon the Conqueror."

"Oh please. I find it hard to believe that Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys weren't enjoying the feast of cock and cunts in their beds every night. If it weren't for my House's lucky scorpion shot, they'd have outbred Jaehaerys and Alysanne."

"We aving feast, _muna_?" Elia's eyes were drawn down to her daughter, staring up with the same violet eyes as Rhaegar.

Leaning down, Elia hefted her up, Rhae still small enough for her to lift. "No feast this time, my sweet dragon. Auntie Ellaria and I were just talking about… something else." A sharp glare caused Ellaria to groan and wink. "_Kepa_ is coming home today."

It was as if the Targaryen Princess lit up as brightly as the Martell sigil. "I miss _kepa_. He bwing present?" Rhaegar never forgot to bring Rhaenys a little treat or trinket whenever he had to leave Dragonstone or the Red Keep for royal business - as a father, there was no one better.

Sighing, Elia steeled herself. "Yes, he's bringing you a second muna." If they were all to survive, Elia would have to accept Lyanna Stark's presence in their lives.

Rhaenys blinked. "Two _muna_? But you _muna_."

Love for her precious child, blood of her blood, Elia hugged close to her. "I'll always be your _muna,_ but _kepa_ is bringing… you know the story I told you of your namesake."

"Mmm-hmm," Rhaenys nodded. "Egg and Rhae and Vis, dwagon con-ker-ors…" Young though she was, she was also smart. "Oh, so you and two _muna_ be Rhae an' Vis?"

"Yes, my dear." Elia kissed Rhae's cheek, relieved. "She'll love you as much as I do." I pray this to not be a lie. "Now, go off and play again. I'll come find you later." Rhaenys kissed her on the cheek and rushed off. "Well, that was brutal."

Ellaria chuckled. "I think you did that rather well. Since you'll be the resurrection of the conquering trio, when can I expect the feasts to occur?"

Face reddening when she realized what Ellaria was talking about, Elia smacked her shoulder. "Shut it." Even if she did share Ellaria's… preferences - Elia couldn't be sure - that was likely never going to happen. "I hope I didn't just lie to my daughter."

"I've been telling you for a long time, there are only two ways this goes down. Catfight central or feast. The in betweens will just end up with Black Brides all over again."

Elia shuddered. The sniping and clandestine infighting between Maegor's last three wives was legend. "You underestimate by desire to protect my children and my husband. Be it even my own house," a very real possibility given Doran refusing to come north and Oberyn already on his way. "I am a Targaryen Princess and that's where my loyalties lay."

"My Ladies."

Familiar voice behind her, Elia spun around to find her husband. Dressed in his armor and hair tied back in a bun, a genuine smile was on his face - happy to see her. "Rhaegar." Without hesitation, she walked over and hugged him. Inhaling his spicy scent. Whatever problems they had, he was her rock. "When did you get back?"

"Just now," Rhaegar replied. Clearly relieved that Elia wasn't bitter about the situation. She looked stressed, but otherwise the same understanding wife he had grown to consider his partner. "My father didn't want anything ostentatious."

"Believe me," Rhaella said as she walked up beside her son. "It surprised me to."

The Dornish Princess leaned down to kiss the Queen's hand. "Goodmother, welcome back. You must be exhausted."

Rhaella chuckled. "As much as I would love to see my grandchildren, traveling has taken its toll on me."

"I'll go change out of my armor. Afterwards, we can make introductions." The Crown Prince ducked out, meaning obvious."

Escorting her goodmother to the Queen's chambers, Elia turned to her. "Where is…?"

"Lady Lyanna? The Starks are a day behind even though she travelled with us. I think she wanted to explore the castle." At Elia's worried expression, the Queen laughed. "Do not worry, dearest daughter. You'll find yourself pleasantly surprised with the she-wolf of Winterfell." The clinking of Ser Jaime and Ser Gerold's armored boots behind them filled the resulting silence.

* * *

Used to the barren simplicity of Winterfell, what some perfumed lords or Tourney knights of Dorne and the Reach may have called spartan, Lyanna found herself dazzled. Not just appreciative of the beauty of what had been the premier architectural style of Westeros at the time of Maegor I. Gods… The history of that these walls held. Jaehaerys and Alysanne walking hand and hand as their Kingdoms prospered. Viserys I, desperately trying to keep the peace between his daughter and his wife. Rhaenyra, praying desperately for her warrior husband to come back to her. My book… this is where everything played out. Lyanna wondered if some young Northern lady would imagine being in her own shoes centuries in the future.

The Prince's personal quarters looked comfortable, hearth stocked with logs ready for nightfall. Intricate mosaics of Dragonstone and what Lyanna thought was the court of Daeron II covered the walls, all leading to the outside gardens. There were more specific touches, which Lyanna recognized as Dornish._ Elia…_ Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, the moment of truth fast approaching. Forced to face the woman that was to her beloved what she would soon be…

Pacing about the solar, twiddling her thumbs as she usually did when nervous, a slight bump against her leg knocked Lyanna from her thoughts. Feeling something slide under the skirts of her grey dress, she pushed aside the pleated fabric to find a small red ball. Smooth leather and fitting easily in the palm of her hand.

"That mine."

Eyes drifting to the entrance to the gardens, Lyanna saw the originator of the voice. A little girl in a crimson dress. Raven black curls falling in waves across her shoulders. Utterly adorable. Lyanna couldn't help but smile. "This?" She held up the ball.

The girl nodded vigorously. "I's playing. Wanna play with me?"

Laughing joyously, as Lyanna approach she saw them. Eyes a so perfect violet that they could be recognizable to her anywhere. They were Rhaegar's eyes, which could only mean this girl was… "I'd like to play with you, but I really should ask permission from a Prince or Princess? Princess Rhaenys perhaps."

"Pwincess Rhaenys me!" Rhaenys jumped up and down, giggling in an infectious excitement. "I's Rhaenys!"

Struggling not to fall into laughs at how adorable the Princess was, Lyanna curtseyed. "Your Grace, I bid welcome into your home."

As if remembering what her mother and grandmother would do when receiving someone, Rhaenys copied the movements to the best of her ability. Given she was barely halfway past two, she lost her footing and fell upon the ground. "Oww…" Her lip quivered.

Lyanna's heart broke at seeing such a precious child - Rhaegar's precious child - in such a state and swept forward. Heaving Princess Rhaenys in her arms, she hugged her close. "Don't cry, sweetling." Lyanna pressed a kiss to the girl's cheek. "Believe me, I've been in worse scrapes. For a spirited child… wear it with honor." She pressed her finger on Rhaenys' stomach, tickling the girl back into giggles. Gods, she was falling in love with the entire Targaryen family.

But what Rhaenys said next knocked her off kilter. "You my new _muna?"_

The daughter of Winterfell wasn't well versed in Valyrian - something she would have to change now that she was to be a Targaryen Princess - but_ 'muna'_ was one of the words she did know. Her mother? "What do you mean, sweetling?"

"My_ muna_ say new _muna_ come fwam Nowth." _New mother…_ Ah, that explained it. The Princess must have told her daughter about Lyanna so as not to be confused. "You fwam Nowth?"

She smiled softly. "Yes, sweetling. I am from the North." Lyanna pressed another kiss to her brow. "I'm Lyanna of House Stark, and yes, I think I could be your new muna."

A big, toothy smile, violet eyes sparkling in the same way as Rhaegar when he was excited. "You new _muna?!_ Can we play to-gefhter?" Squirming in Lyanna's hands, the chuckling future Princess set Rhaenys down. "What play in Nowth?"

Remembering how she dealt with all the smallfolk children, Lyanna understood what the precocious Princess was getting at. "Well, sweetling, in the North we like to play in the snow."

Her eyes widened in sheer awe. "Snow? I never see snow. Snow in Nowth?"

"A lot of snow." Lyanna spread her arms wide. "As far as the eye can see… Perhaps in the future I could show you myself."

"I wanna see snow!" By now, the excitement was so overwhelming that Rhaenys was jumping up and down with the biggest smile. The most joyous of laughs fell from Lyanna's lips, the girl's innocent joy utterly infectious. "Take me snow. Fluffy fluffy!" However, Rhaenys turned as the sound of scuffing on the stone floor drew attention to the entrance. _"Muna!"_ Headlong she dashed for a raven-haired woman in a burnt orange dress, burying her face in the silky skirts. "I meet two _muna_. She Lwyanna, wuv her!" Pointing her stubby finger at Lyanna, Rhaenys jumped some more in the new arrival's arms. "She take me see snow. Pwese see snow. Pwease pwease!"

As much as Lyanna was just gushing over how adorable Rhaegar's daughter was, the arrival of the newcomer took her entire attention._ Burnt orange, raven hair, olive skin…_ the way Rhaenys interacted with her could only mean… Without missing a beat, eyes like an owl before averting her gaze, Lyanna curtseyed. "Your Grace. Forgive me for intruding with your daughter without permission." Her mind had been whirring on making the right first impression with her soon to be sister-wife, but meeting little Rhaenys first wasn't one she imagined.

"She gweat, _muna?"_ Rhaenys asked her mother with a smile.

Eyeing over Lyanna Stark with a quizzical look, Elia Martell was forced to smile back to her precocious daughter. "Yes, she seems to be." Glancing back at Ellaria - barely hiding her humorous smirk at the whole situation - Elia knew she wouldn't be of any help. "Rhaenys, why doesn't Ser Jonothor help you find your father? _Muna_ would like to speak with Lady Stark alone." A bit put off, the prospect of seeing Rhaegar again was enough of a distraction. But not before Rhaenys ran back to the still kneeling Lyanna and planted a big kiss on her cheek.

Once the little cyclone of a girl had left the solar, Lyanna rose, her head still down with respect. "Your Grace, I…"

"No need to seek forgiveness… it's quite alright." All of what Elia planned for how to greet the woman who would be marrying her husband, the rigid formality and gradual scrutinizing… all went out the window the moment she found Lyanna Stark laughing and playing with her beloved daughter. A small, genuine smile curled on her lips. "Welcome to the Royal Quarters, Lady Lyanna. I suppose you and I will be getting to know each other quite well."

The woman's piercing grey eyes sparkled - Lyanna Stark wasn't anything that Elia expected. _Breath of fresh air could be the appropriate term?_ At least on first impression. "I suppose so, Princess." Her gaze flickered behind Elia. "Is there any reason why that woman behind you is staring at me?"

_Oh Gods…_ Praying that her lady in waiting didn't embarrass her, Elia forced a tight smile to her face. "Lady Lyanna Stark, this is the Lady Ellaria Sand, daughter of Lord Harman Uller and my Lady in Waiting."

It took a moment for Lyanna to remember they were Dornish - bastards were close to normalized there, even if they weren't able to inherit. There wasn't anything strange with Elia taking one as a lady in waiting. "I am glad to make your acquaintance, Lady Ellaria."

A grin of some sort planted on her lips, Ellaria darted forward. Immediately taking Lyanna's hands in hers, eyes raking her up and down appreciatively. "Nice to meet you too, Lady Stark." The gaze lingered in rather… intimate places upon Lyanna's body. "My my, I never imagined you'd be so… beautiful."

"Um… much thanks, Lady Ellaria." Lyanna was growing a bit uncomfortable - behind, Elia pinched the bridge of her nose, praying this would end soon.

"So many silver-haired Valyrians and swarthy Dornish and Andals." Ellaria clicked her tongue. "Gets boring after a while."

What could one say to that? "For someone… predisposed to appreciating beauty." Lyanna was choosing her words carefully. "I cannot imagine those more perfect than Queen Rhaella or Princess Elia." The aforementioned Princess noticed the compliment - Lyanna meant it, for Elia was a rather stunning woman. Rhaegar was a lucky man even when she sought to be modest about her own attributes.

Ellaria laughed merrily, quite throaty and seductive. "Don't get me wrong, they have their looks, but the wild, natural beauty of the First Men is… refreshing."

Elia had enough. "Ellaria, please give the Lady Lyanna and I some privacy to speak."

Dropping Lyanna's hands, she turned back to Elia. "Alright. While I would love to get to know the future Queen more… intimately, I can't refuse a direct order, and there should be an influx of fresh northmen and women I can introduce myself to." Ellaria cast one last twinkling gaze to Lyanna. "Until next time, Princess." With that, she sauntered out, curvy figure swaying underneath her dark red dress.

Groaning, if Elia's plans had been scrambled by her daughter, they were doused in dragonfire by Ellaria. "Forgive me for that."

"Did she have a problem with me?" Lyanna asked, not knowing what to make of that.

"Ellaria still has a problem with court decorum clothes a necessity." Left to her own devices, she'd be naked and frolicking about a garden with other like-minded individuals. "She's like that with everyone, and believe me, she's actually a good lady in waiting."

Lyanna actually grinned a bit. "I know what you mean. Dacey Mormont is just as eccentric."

A perfectly styled brow rose. "Mormont of Bear Island? The ones that train their women to fight?"

"Just like the Martells of Sunspear." Lyanna shrugged. "Hard to be a woman of strength in certain circles."

That was something Elia could agree too. "Yes, it is. Though Prince Rhaegar is quite appreciative of a strong woman, most Targaryens are." From how her counterpart beamed, there was clearly more to that story._ For another time…_ "Where are my manners, let's sit." Watching the direwolf of Winterfell move to one of the couches, Elia allowed herself the observations Ellaria had denied her. Her lady in waiting wasn't wrong, Lyanna Stark was absolutely beautiful. Chestnut hair reaching to the middle of her back, a smile that could light up the room, few men wouldn't find themselves smitten. But from the way she held herself, there was a power behind the beauty. Muscles toned and body hard and slender from activity and riding. Eyes piercing with intelligence. Inadvertently, Aerys had picked well for his son. Seated across from each other, Elia began. "Introductions to the Princess Rhaenys are unnecessary then."

A genial laugh. "One moment I was admiring the Dornish touch to the royal quarters, and the next she was there, asking to play with her."

"My daughter is quite the handful, isn't she?" It was a running debate whether she took more after her Dornish blood or Rhaegar's dragon blood - Rhaenys certainly didn't act like either of them specifically.

"Oh not at all." Lyanna spoke as if she was praising her own family - surprising to her, Elia didn't feel jealous. Only… relieved maybe? "She is an absolute treasure, as easy to love as her father."

And the tension - or at the very least the awkwardness - returned with a vengeance. Much as the two women tried to find common ground, the fact that they were to marry the same man would hang on them like a massive weight until they found a way to live with it. "You love Rhaegar, don't you?" _That was quick… but she is right. He is easy to love._

Lyanna nodded. "What can I say… he swept me off my feet. Saving me from a betrothal to a man I despise."

"Lord Robert Baratheon? Aye, he is not one for a woman who isn't an adoring decoration and womb."

"Gods, you knew too? Why is it that the only person who didn't is my northern fool of a brother?" She loved Ned, but he still irritated her for not catching it - a shrug. "Eh, if he wasn't like that then he wouldn't be the brother I love. None of them would be."

"My brothers drive me mad sometimes as well. Oberyn in different ways than Doran." They had that in common, the only girls in a castle of men. "You seem like a good person, Lyanna. Not like the social climbers and greedy cunts that only see Rhaegar's title."

The daughter of Winterfell cast a grateful look. "Anyone who could raise that angel can't be that, either." It appeared that Rhaenys had unknowingly broke the ice between the two Princesses. "She told me something about a second mother?"

"What else could I really tell her?" Elia played nervously with her fingers. "To be honest, I was hoping that my statements would be proven true. That you wouldn't make Rhaenys feel hated as Alicent Hightower did to Queen Rhaenyra." The Dornish Princess didn't expect the other to understand the reference.

Turns out, she had underestimated the northern beauty - it was practically the best reference she could make. "The peaceful realm that Viserys Targaryen built was destroyed because his new wife couldn't come to terms with what his previous wife left." Elia cocked her brow, curious as to how Lyanna knew that particular story. Behind the willowy figure and sultry Dornish coloring and accent, there existed a sharp mind. Lyanna appreciated it greatly. "I know our situation is ideal, but Rhaegar isn't like most men."

Even given what they had been through, Elia thought the most highly of her husband. "No he isn't… they call him the Last Dragon in the capitol, and they are right. Something about him… he is a kind not seen in Westeros for centuries."

"You sense it too?" Lyanna felt a kinship with her soon to be sister-wife. "I want us to have a good relationship… for his sake and for the future of our adopted house. So perhaps we should take this gradually. Not force ourselves but without airs either?"

Elia nodded. "They say Northerners are simple people, but you… you will make a good Queen." The two women wore matching smiles.

Riotous giggles heralded the return of Princess Rhaenys… only this time she brought companions. "_Kepa! Kepa! Muna_ Lwyanna here!" Lyanna watched as her beloved entered the solar, Rhaenys tugging on his left hand while in his right he cradled the most adorable little babe. Her heart clenched, both for the youngest member of the Targaryen family and imagining Rhaegar carrying her babe in such a manner. "She meet _muna_."

A flash of concern on the Crown Prince's face, eyes flickering back and forth between his wife and his betrothed relaxed him. Both were smiling, both seemed relaxed and not at each other's throats. Crisis averted. "I can see that, little dragon."

Both women rose, Elia glancing at him sweetly while Lyanna wore a look of absolute adoration. "Husband," the former greeted.

"Wife." Rhaegar leaned down to kiss her. Even with Lyanna in his life, he found that it just wasn't right without his Dornish Princess there too. _The only two right decisions my father ever made._ He turned to his northern direwolf. "Lyanna."

Lyanna stepped forward and crashed their lips together. Short, but filled with passion all the same. "Your Grace," she remarked saucily, biting her lip as she looked over him lasciviously. A hint for later. "Is this Prince Aegon?"

Nodding, Rhaegar took a chance and handed his son to his betrothed. "Aye, my youngest."

Accepting the babe gladly, Lyanna rocked him gently in her arms. Stroking his cheek. "Gods, what is it with you Targaryens?" While sharing the same Dornish features as his sister, Prince Aegon had far more Targaryen in him. The same silver thatch of hair and violet eyes that made Lyanna's heart throb with love. "In one week I've fallen for your entire family."

Reaching her husband's side, Elia leaned up to kiss his neck. "You could have done much worse, husband. I like her." A tension that Rhaegar hadn't known was there was suddenly released.

Suddenly, the babe began to cry, squirming in Lyanna's arms. "Oh no, sweetling, don't cry." Cooing at him, she gently bounced Aegon up and down. It didn't help.

"I think he's just hungry, Lyanna," Elia butted in, taking her still fussing son. "Let's get you some milk, alright, little dragon?" Casting them both an apologetic look for having to leave, Elia went to her chamber to feed Aegon in private.

Before Lyanna could run into Rhaegar's arms, the little bundle of energy had leapt into hers. "Lwyanna. Play dwagon wif me and _kepa_?!"

Feeling Rhaegar embrace the both of them, Lyanna sighed happily._ How has my life gotten so lucky?_ "Yes, sweetling, _kepa_ and I can play dragon with you?" After the whirlwind all of them had endured, something mindless and fun sounded just like what the maester ordered.

* * *

"No!" Shuffling along the glimmering marble floors of the great colonnade leading to the throne room, Aerys glared at his Hand with blazing violet eyes. "Under no circumstances will that conniving traitor grace himself anywhere near me!"

When dealing with his Grace, one either burned out quickly - sometimes literally - or learned just as quickly how to avoid triggering his temper. Aerys II Targaryen would always blow up, but there were different gradients. For Jon Connington, the art was in just getting a tongue lashing. "This is the wedding between your son and the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. As Warden of the West he would…"

Aerys slammed his fist against one of the stone columns. "And bring the Doom upon us?!" Robes wrinkled, hair matted, he looked nothing like the same debonair, regal King that had so graced the tourney grounds only days earlier. Something was on his mind, pushing him into a rather bad time of it. _Perhaps the Weirwood Knight?_ A bloody helm and shield… seemed to calm him down but who really knew? "First he tried to bait me with his whore of a cousin, and now he plots the Doom! I will not have him here!"

"Your Grace," he continued as they reached the open doors to the throne room. "It would be more dangerous to your safety if you do not let him attend the wedding."

While Connington braced for another barrage of words, instead he only got a raised eyebrow. "Go on."

"The wedding would worry Lord Tywin, forcing the Westerlands to face hostile forces all around . If he wishes to strike preemptively by launching the Doom of Valyria upon King's Landing… he can't very well do so while he and his family are present in the capitol."

"I have his brat here," Aerys countered, though half-heartedly.

Connington crossed his arms. "Do you think he cares? That he wouldn't sacrifice his son in a heartbeat?"

The King pursed his lips. "I'd do the same, so I can see it." While his words worried Connington on a fundamental level, for the moment he was calm. "Get him here, but if I see him before the wedding I'll have you killed. Understood."

A deep and low bow. "I am at your service, your Grace."

"Good." A peek inside found exactly what he was looking for, interest and awe filling his expression. "Get out."

"Your Grace…"

"I said get out. Need I remind you again?" Luckily for him, Connington simply bowed again and retreated, leaving the King to shut the door and briskly walk towards the Iron Throne. His throne, the throne of his ancestors that now only he could enjoy. _Not Tywin, not my brother. Me!_ Resting in front of it on the base of the stairs to the throne, the thin, perfumed form Lord Varys waiting on the side. "This is it?"

Reaching out to pat the two ironwood chests - lacquered black in intricate symbols of Old Valyria - the Master of Whisperers nodded. "While I know you would have wanted to be here the moment they landed in the harbor, but with the tourney…"

Aerys waved him off. "Yes, yes I know." Fingers ran along the wood, a warm tingle shooting into his fingers. "Where did your agents find them?"

"Two in the volcanic caves of Dragonstone, the freshest. The others we found in Essos, various Free Cities."

"Did you have to kill anyone to get them?" His eyes were gleaming.

Varys nodded. "There was one merchant in Pentos. Kept his manse guarded - they tried to be discreet but… sometimes only brute force can secure the King's will." He looked at the ground, feet shuffling. "There were no witnesses to our efforts. The merchant tried to hide them but my men… persuaded him to give us the location."

Expression almost sparkling at the information, Aerys stared upon the chests with awe. "You did well, Lord Varys. Now, leave me with my treasures." He didn't need to tell Varys twice, the eunuch making his exit without undue fuss. Fingers drifting to the latches keeping the chest shut, Aerys undid them and raised the lid to the first, jaw falling open slightly at the magnificence within.

Four dragon eggs, nestled gingerly in sand to protect them from the accidental harm of a jostling crate. Black with red swirls, green, white with grey swirls, blue with gold specks, each just as beautiful as the last. They were ossified into stone, scales smooth to the touch of the Targaryen King's fingers, but Aerys could feel it. Feel the tingle coursing through him. Almost feel the immense power contained within these eggs. Rushing to the second chest, opening it found four others. Blood red, a gleaming silver with blue swirls, burnt orange with red patches, and a radiant purple. The first and last of the second chest younger and warmer than the others. Eight beautiful dragon eggs, returned home to their rightful owner.

_House Targaryen deserves these eggs._ His father was weak, trying to hatch them with Dunk but failing spectacularly. But not Aerys, he would bring the dragons back, let the power of them course through his veins and finally end all the schemers and traitors…

_'Aerry… Aerry…'_

He froze, nearly falling to his knees in shock. _That voice… it can't be…_ Only one person ever called him 'Aerry.' A supposed name of affection, but one that haunted his life for decades.

_'My sweet goodbrother, Aerry… such marvelous eggs you have…'_

Wrapping his arms tight about the chests, Aerys' eyes flickered around the dark throne room. "You will not have them, Jenny! They are mine! Mine, not some common whore's!"

A fluttering laugh, joyous and carefree, filled the massive chamber. Wisps of gossamer darting about through the darkness. Almost illuminating it before the specters vanished, Aerys' heart beating out of his chest. _'A King, a King, fire answer the call. Dragons awoken, enemies will fall.'_

"Yes!" Eyes almost glowing from pure mania, the King grabbed the blood red egg, cradling it to his breast in spite of the heat of the scales nearly causing his skin to singe. "I am that King! I am to do what my useless father and your idiot husband failed to do! I AM THE KING!"

Suddenly the specter appeared right in front of him. Light hair billowing behind her angelic face - one that inspired a Prince to abandon his throne and nobility and smallfolk alive to fall in love with this simple woman… but to Aerys, the face was that of a demon. Sweat clinging to his skin and limbs trembling from fear. _'The tree of high heart, champion still ride.'_

Warm piss ran down Aerys' leg to puddle on the floor, words stabbing him right in the chest. "No! You're lying you deceitful bitch!" The mystery knight was dead - his son brought the bloody helm and shield.

_'A son she bears, your reign aside.'_ Leaning down to press a kiss to her goodbrother's forehead, Aerys watched as the spirit of the Lady Jenny faded through him, disappearing into the dark visage of the Iron Throne. Not a sound could be heard but the King's sobs, rocking on the floor with the egg in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That... was far better than expected. Kudos to Rhaenys for being such a cutiepie :D
> 
> Tywin and Tyrion make their first appearance. And is that Podrick's dad?
> 
> Elia... she's trying to do the best thing for her family... and deep down she loves Rhaegar desperately. Let's hope it builds on the good meeting... and Ellaria is being Ellaria XD
> 
> Eight Dragon Eggs! Did anyone really expect that?
> 
> If I can get 50 comments. I'll update Wednesday!
> 
> Next up, Ned and Ser Arthur put on a show for the Red Keep :D


	15. Joyful Fights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the new update as promised!
> 
> Be sure to check out some awesome stories: Wolves of War by GulfYankee23, Howl of the Dragonwolves by Elphaba818, The Long Night that Was Promised by Dakkaman777, Kingdom of Ice and Fire by WhiteWolf04, and From the Ashes Begin Anew by bykim0120. All of the authors are great guys that have been the best of fans!
> 
> Plus, happy birthday to Elphaba818! Hope this is a good belated birthday present :)
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

Soft sheets.

Such was the first thing that convinced Ned every morning during his groggy, post sleep state that he wasn't in Winterfell. No dream could conceive of sheets that soft, so he could only be in the plush luxury of the Red Keep. Transformed from the second son of the Lord Paramount of the backwater Kingdom into the goodbrother to the Crown Prince of House Targaryen himself. And for his sister to be head over heels for said Prince… _Yep, I'd never dream up something this incredible._

While the sheets - especially in contrast to the warm yet rough furs and linens that made up the bedspreads of the North - made it very tempting to stay in and enjoy the amenities the royal family had to offer, early to bed and early to rise drummed into him by both his father and Jon Arryn brought him from the bed to his closet. A quick dry shave and splash of water on his face found him in his leathers and breeches emblazoned with the direwolf of his House. Rare in the south, but he rather enjoyed being the northerner in the southern viper den. The cockiness of youth, as Lord Arryn would say.

Strolling down the hallways towards the training ground, a turn of the corner found him face to face with his soon to be goodbrother. "Ned," Rhaegar laughed. "Do all northerners wake up so early?"

"Unless it's the morning of a feast, aye." Ever since the Tourney… since he had taken the initiative to meet Rhaegar personally, the two had gotten much closer - Rhaegar beginning to usurp Robert's place. _Well deserved._ The Prince was a man worthy of respect, especially in how he treated Lyanna. "Normally even us highborns have chores around the castle…"

Rhaegar eyed him with a twinkling curiosity. "A Highborn performing chores alongside the smallfolk? Have you heard of that, Oswell?" he asked one of the two Kingsguards behind him. Ser Oswell shook his head. "Arthur?"

"Sometimes squires do it," the Sword of the Morning conceded. "But the North doesn't follow knightly traditions if I recall."

"Northerners are… different that way. Brandon fed the chickens, I swept out the kitchen, and Lyanna…" Rhaegar watched him intently. "She brushed and watered the horses."

Tipping his head back, Rhaegar laughed merrily. Falling in love with his bride more and more. "Sounds like her."

Ned grinned. "Aye, it does." He wouldn't be surprised if Lyanna wouldn't do that here as well. "Anyway, afterwards, we broke our fast and then morning training. Wasn't much to eat, lest we throw up in the middle of a spar."

"Nope, never good" the Prince conceded. "We eat after our morning training. Our food is richer than that in the North, can't ever eat it sparingly. Besides…" He and the two knights shared looks. "We work up a sweat. Bruises… have been known to happen."

The northerner detected a sort of good-natured dick measuring contest going on. "I'm sure the southern tourney knights haven't trained with Umbers and Boltons in preparation for wildling raids."

Ser Oswell trotted forward, hand on Ned's shoulder stopping him. "You calling me a 'Tourney Knight,' Lord Stark?" Eyes narrowed underneath his helm.

While a quarter head shorter than the Hacker of Harrenhal, Ned refused to be intimidated. "If the boot fits, Ser Oswell. Fightin' wildlings is man's work. Makes tourneys look like tickle fights."

"Seems this should be settled on the training grounds," smirked Rhaegar. This was going to be fun. Grunting their assent, Ned and Oswell fell into place in the group, no further words needing to be exchanged.

Turns out, for the sun barely peeking over the eastern horizon of Blackwater Bay, the training yard of Maegor's holdfast was packed. Gawking Household guards of both the dragon and direwolf joined with the appreciative glances of the female staff to watch while the highborns trained. Some stripped to bare chests even in the chill, while all were drenched in sweat. The current duo were Lord Commander Gerold Hightower and… Brandon Stark. Sharp clashes of steel rang out as the training swords met, Ned and Rhaegar perching against columns to watch the duel progress.

An upward slash from Ser Gerold was skillfully parried by Brandon, the heir to Winterfell going on the offensive. "Your brother is good," Rhaegar commented.

"He's always been a natural with a blade," Ned replied, proud that his older brother could stand strong against such a renowned fighter. "Took to it like a fish to water… for me it took a lot of work to master the skill."

"Me too, believe it or not." Both watched as an attempted counterattack from Gerold was beaten back by sheer force of arms on Brandon's part. "Leaning heavily into his strength. Good, yet unoriginal."

Ned shrugged. "Depends on our enemies. Some wildlings… just need to crush underfoot. Others are nimble, need more finesse." He looked at Rhaegar. "I know both."

Raising an eyebrow, the Prince nodded. "Oswell doesn't mean disrespect…"

"Didn't suggested he did."

"Still… they're basically my brothers. Watching out for me… sizing you Starks up." There was silence while Gerold and Brandon traded the initiative several times. "They know and like Lyanna, but they don't know you yet."

Shifting on the cold stone, Ned nodded. "Understandable. We often meet our truest friends on the battlefield."

Violet eyes swiveled to him. "That sounds quite true, Ned, though I pray I won't have to learn that the hard way." Few rulers would admit that, too obsessed with their personal dreams of glory. "I'm good at fighting, yet I hate it." Ned admired Rhaegar more just for that statement. _He'll be a great King…_ "I will enjoy clobbering you, or seeing Oswell clobber you." The quiet wolf only laughed.

Somehow, Brandon managed to sidestep a lunge by Ser Gerold, having feinted an assault to the left. Spinning in a riposte meant to fight Thenn warriors, the Stark heir slashed until his sword hovered over the join between the Kingsguard's helm and shoulderplate. "Yield?"

Ser Gerold snorted, accepting his loss with humility. "Yield." Arms dropping, he clasped Brandon's hand. "Good match."

"Likewise, your reputation is well earned." Finally noticing Ned, Brandon grinned tiredly. "Glad you could show up little brother… goodbrother." There was little formality on the training yard. Quite an egalitarian part of the castle, at least for those participating. "Care to join me for a spar, my Prince? I promise I won't be too hard on ya'."

The shit eating grin on Brandon's face made Rhaegar roll his eyes. "While I would love to, I'm sitting this out. Your brother already chanced Ser Oswell to a one on one."

To this, Brandon was surprised. "Really Ned? Bold of you."

"What can I say?" Ned answered, picking up a practice bastard sword, tip perfectly dulled and edge round. He twirled it in his wrist to acclimate to it. "I'm not one to show off my skills to impress my betrothed… or her pretty handmaidens." A chorus of laughs rang out at Brandon's expense.

"Oh very funny, little brother." Punching Ned's shoulder, it was all in good jest. "Tell you what, how's about you and I against Ser Oswell and…"Brandon narrowed his eyes, peering out at the various Targaryen sworn swords. Suddenly, a grin of mischief spread on his face. "The Sword of the Morning." There was a silence, broken only by a bit of murmuring. Arthur, in the midst of sharpening his second blade, stilled. Confused at his name being called. "Lest he's too busy to do it."

Ned glared at his brother. "Really, Bran? He'll fuck us up." He wanted to prove himself, not get his ass handed to him.

It only provoked a cocky smile directed at Arthur. "I can take him. What do ya' say?"

Shrugging, Arthur stood up. "Alright." Bored, he decided that the arrogant Stark heir could use a humbling. Nonchalantly he went to grab his swords.

"It isn't a fair fight, brother," Ned insisted. "At least we should get another man."

"Hold up." The Prince emerged at the center, hands up. "I have a solution. Ned, Bran, you and six of your best men against Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell, and Ser Gerold. Last man standing is the winner." Frankly, this was the closest to a fair fight as he could arrange.

Sharing a glance with his brother before finally grinning widely, Brandon nodded. "Done."

_Oh brother… what have you done?_ Based on look Rhaegar gave him, the same look Lyanna had given him when he said he could break in a growing stallion and ended up having two limbs splinted by Maester Luwin, all Ned could do was ready his blade and fight like all the seven hells.

Ser Arthur Dayne looking like the world was his oyster didn't help.

* * *

"... Lord Mace Tyrell is a jovial fellow, but a bit of a buffoon. It's his mother that's the true mastermind of House Tyrell, but his own initiative is largely spent trying to find a husband for his daughter that would make her Queen. Expect him to try and sweettalk you into betrothing her to Prince Aegon."

Lyanna stared at Jon Arryn incredulously. "But Aegon's but a sweet babe." It had been her that woke in the middle of the night to bounce him the previous early morning. Her heart swelling as he immediately cuddled close. Not much time had passed before the children were seeing her as their new mother, and she seeing them as hers as well as Elia's. "And isn't the Lady Margaery but a babe as well?"

Lord Arryn gave a depreciating smirk. "Aye, that's irrelevant though. Betrothals can be sealed even before birth… My first bride wasn't even conceived before my father made the arrangements with Lord Royce… well, the Lord Royce at a time. I've lived far longer than you, my Lady," laughed the old Warden of the East.

"I wouldn't doubt you've lived a long and fulfilling life, my Lord." While his hair had gone completely grey and a set of wooden teeth fit into his mouth, Jon Arryn still possessed the aquiline nose and piercing blue eyes of a pureblooded Andal. The Arryns had been the first Andal warlords to establish their kingdoms, and he carried himself in that august regard. "My children will be able to choose their betrotheds." Lyanna's experience with Robert made her determined for such.

A shrug from Lord Arryn. "A noble sentiment, my Lady, but I fear you may not be so lucky while ruling. Compromises must be made, but being dragons that does make it more likely." They were seated in the gardens, immersed in the second set of discussions about the political climate of King's Landing - admiring the various bounty of flowers and trees. More than Lyanna had ever seen in the glass gardens or the Wolfswood at the height of summer. "You have to understand, my Lady. Much of decisions here are those of form rather than substance. Everything not just in self-interest but seeming self-interest. Bribery, torrid affairs meant on gauging information or reputations… oftentimes favors are offered only for the reason that the players involved want to be seen offering them, only to never actually complete or even start the favors." A bleak world, but one Lynna was determined to live in to be with Rhaegar. "It is fair to assume that there are few that one can trust in the game of thrones…"

"Except for blood, correct?" Lyanna asked. "One can trust blood?"

"The Blackfyre Rebellions suggest otherwise. Daeron and Daemon were both cousins and half-brothers." That was food for thought. Lyanna knew her brothers and father were trustworthy… _Who among Rhaegar's family can't I trust?_

"Lyanna." It was the Princess Elia, hurrying over to them in a brisk walk.

As Elia approached, Jon Arryn brought Lyanna's hand up for a respectful kiss. "I think we should pick this up later. Until then, my Lady." He bowed to Rhaegar's wife. "Princess."

Nodding, Lyanna turned to her beautiful Dornish counterpart. Smile widening on her face. "Dearest sister-wife." She took Elia's hands, leaning in to press a kiss on each of her cheeks - Elia reciprocating. They had dined together the night before while Rhaegar was inspecting the City Watch, discussing many things - one being the traditional Dornish method of greeting family. It appealed to the she-wolf, being informal and friendly. "I trust your morning is going well."

"It has, thank you. I was going to the training yard to watch my Lord Husband train, would you like to join?" The northern beauty nodded, radiant look glossing her face at the mere mention of Rhaegar. They walked side by side, Elia glancing back to see the Warden of the East stroll away, practically the epitome of the proper Andal lord. "So what was Lord Arryn doing by your side?"

"He's been discussing court procedure to me. How a northerner can properly integrate themselves into southern politics." Both ladies made an interesting sight, the fair-skinned, athletic northerner and the swarthy, graceful Dornishwoman - each a rarity in the Andal-dominated society of Westeros. _Combined with the Valyrian Targaryens, I could see why there is tension against the crown._ Elia couldn't help but think of such threats, and if Arryn was advising well then Lyanna would be thinking similarly. "Is it true that Rhaegar admits you into meetings of the Small Council?"

The Princess raised an eyebrow. "Did Lord Arryn tell you that? His Grace forbids women from sitting on the Small Council."

Something in Lyanna's expression fell. "Oh, well, I thought so. Some taboos are hard to break…"

Once they left the gardens and entered the Holdfast, Elia squeezed her arm. "Aerys never ventures into the Holdfast anymore, he keeps quarters near the Throne Room in case of Lannister spies. He has been known to walk the gardens, however." They began to ascend a staircase. "When he can, Rhaegar allows me into the council. I sit in the position of honor across from the Hand as his wife, so I wouldn't be surprised if you are afforded the same."

Light returned to Lyanna." Oh Gods… he really is something, isn't he?" She wore the genuine visage of a woman in love - clearly having had the moments of affection with the Crown Prince that sealed their bond beyond politics or familiarity. "It's been a whirlwind, but for the life of me I can't imagine a life without him anymore."

Elia sighed, a tiny spark of jealousy flickering in the pit of her stomach. "I know the feeling, Lyanna." She clasped her hands together, closing her eyes for a moment. The Lady of House Stark had practically been her shadow for the last several days, alone or joined by Rhaegar or their children - Rhaenys and Aegon already adored her, the former ecstatic at the stories of the Kings of Winter and riding with Lyanna atop her mare. It was as if Lyanna fit into their family, displacing none but rather carving out her own position. _But she has had the moments I was denied…_

"Sister? Elia?" Brown eyes opened to find Lyanna glancing worriedly at her.

As quickly as the feelings emerged, Elia suppressed them. "I'm fine." She smiled - long having come to terms with her lot, the sweet, gentle Lyanna deserved nothing but her friendship. Elia wanted to be friends with her and it was clearly reciprocated. "Rhaegar… there is no one better than he."

"Oh yes." Balcony opening up before them, Lyanna didn't see her beloved. Only her two brothers huddled together with six of their family's bannermen. _Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull…_ Beyond, three Kingsguards waited patiently, practice swords lazily kept at their sides. "Not waiting all damn day, Stark," Ser Oswell called out.

Brandon glared. "Mugs of ale are on you tonight at the inn. Better get the silver stags ready."

_Oh no…_ "Those dumb bastards." She shook her head. "It sometimes amazes me that we share blood."

"They're not really meaning to spar against Ser Arthur?" Elia asked incredulously.

"Sounds just like something Bran would do. Try to say he eat the sword of the Morning." Sure enough, he was making outrageous swings with his practice sword. "Ned… he probably thinks his honor demands it."

Elia snorted. "They'll lose. I've only seen Arthur bested twice. One each to Rhaegar and Oberyn, and that was after dozens of spars with them."

_You cock-addled fools._ Lyanna covered he face in her hands, frustrated at their stupidity. "Bran! Ned!" Her yelling caught their attention. "You bloody idiots. Get out of there before I tear you a new one."

Brandon reacted as if he was wounded. "Oh sister, you doth hurt me. Think I can't win this spar?"

"I think you overestimate your skills. Stop being an overconfident fool before you embarrass yourself." Her gaze shifted to Ned. "And you, what's your excuse?"

At that moment, Lya sounded a lot like their mother. Scolding them for tracking mud into the Keep. "Sorry, sister, but Oswell challenged me and I must meet the challenge."

She rolled her eyes. "Honorable fool." Elia stood beside, simply watching the sibling dynamic. Much like her and Oberyn.

"Don't worry about it, my loves." Hearing her beloved's voice, Lyanna found Rhaegar emerging from directly below them, arms open in apology. "Just settling a dispute over skill. Don't worry, it's a fair fight." Snorts and chuckles from the Northerners… all except for Ned and Howland Reed, both quiet. "No one will get hurt."

"You don't know that."

"Do not worry, my Lady." It was Ser Arthur Dayne, taking off his helm to look at her with his green eyes. "I shan't hurt your brothers when I defeat them." That drew a glare from Brandon but was sincere to Lyanna. She merely waved her hand, washing her hands of it. "Alright, shall we begin?" He raised his swords, as did Gerold Hightower and Oswell Whent.

Each of the eight Northerners did the same, clustered into a loosely packed mass. The burly Lord Willam Dustin and his goodbrother Ser Mark Ryswell. The grizzled but kind Martyn Cassel and the scarred Theo Wull. Third son of his House Ethan Glover and the quiet Howland Reed. And oth the smirking Brandon and brooding Eddard Stark. Everyone around hushed their conversations, one enterprising maester's acolyte studying under Grand Maester Pycelle pulling out a quill and leaf of parchment to write notes of this. While merely a spar, it would be a worthy story for his future history of Rhaegar Targaryen's reign.

Sensing the tension thick enough to cut with a knife, Rhaegar merely clapped his hand to begin. _Good luck, brothers, you'll need it._

At the clap, the Northerners charged. Brandon leapt at Arthur with a booming battlecry that would have made a Thenn Magnar proud, only for the Sword of the Morning to block the coming swing. Spinning a sideways kick to knock Brandon off balance - the first 'kill' of the match came technically to Ser Gerold, nudging his sword hard into the boiled leather covering the stomach of Mark Ryswell just before both of Arthur's blades rocketed into the cocky Ethan Glover. Ryswell just shrugged and hurried off the field, while the cocky Glover shouted profanities and only buggered off by a stern glare from the Crown Prince. Eight against three became six against three.

"Not a good start for your brothers," Elia mused.

Lyanna couldn't help but agree. "Come on, Bran! Watch your flank!"

Already having barely dodged a killing blow at his hip, Ned darted back to join with Howland. Only then launching themselves at Oswell. The Riverman knight handled one sword with the skill that Arthur did two, wrists firm but flexible as his blade matched each strike the northerners made. Ned lunged, trying to time it for when Howland sliced… but was a second too late. Oswell had just parried the slash and managed to dart away from the lunge. Blade slashing sideways on its own and forcing Ned the stumble to the left. Only Howland's repeated assaults broke Oswell from Ned, the Crannogman now his sole target.

Arthur found himself surrounded by three, four once Willam Dustin broke off as Gerold clashed with Ned. He kept his head on a swivel, swords turning constantly to keep his wrists fluid in movement. Smirking, the knight just where he wanted him, Brandon clicked his tongue and the four advanced simultaneously.

The courtyard echoed with the clashing steel. Each Northerner charging, slashes and thrusts going every which way as Arthur met each one. Arms nearly blurred with frantic yet graceful moves one would witness in the legends of old. Counters were forceful, pushing an attacker back several paces so that the Sword of the Morning could concentrate on the other three. At one time facing them all head on, Brandon's smirk turning to a snarl as he tried to slash upward, only to be forced by a double parry while Arthur kicked Theo Wull in the chest. Coughing, Wull was helpless against the training blade cutting right across his middle. Trying to keep up with the constant fighting, Rhaegar whistled. "Out, Wull!" He was only too happy to comply.

Coming up for a downward chop, Gerold was the first Kingsguard casualty of the day when he found Ned's sword at the hollow of his neck. The Crown Prince's call coming not long after. "First blood goes to the Quiet Wolf." Barely hearing Elia, Lyanna watched with interest as Ned went to rejoin Howland. _Come on, Ned… show them how we fight in the North._

Howland was on his last legs. Sweat drenching his tunic and leathers, ankles close to giving out, Oswell easily overcame the half-hearted blows of the Crannongman - they trained to fight hit and run partisan tactics, not direct confrontation with armored knights and it showed. The heavy, two-handed blow sent Howland's sword to the ground and suddenly a blade was at his chest. Another loss for the North, but quickly followed by the second loss for the Kingsguards when Ned utilized the distraction and crashed into the preoccupied Oswell, knocking him down and poking his stomach.

Four against one.

Both swords shot through the air, Arthur taking on Cassel and Brandon in individual clashes while Dustin snuck up behind his comrades. A wise move after a lunge sent Brandon scrambling back, only for crossed blades to take out Cassel - the Winterfell Master-at-Arms prudent enough to sink to the ground after in order not to get in the way. Brandon got in several slashes but all were parried, Arthur managing to slip away and block a downward attack by Dustin… who felt the second sword slamming into his shoulder.

Two against one.

* * *

_"I have orders from His Grace that Tywin Lannister is not to be provided lodgings within the Red Keep, My Lady. And with all due respect affording your station, I would advise that you keep your visits to the Red Keep to a minimum."_

Storming down the corridors of the Red Keep as fast as the skirts of her dress would allow, Cersei Lannister cursed the powers to be in the Seven Kingdoms. From King Aerys II himself, to Aegon V for appointing him the heir, and lastly Hand of the King Jon Connington. Far more a Rhaegar loyalist than he was to the current occupant of the Iron Throne, he nevertheless shared Aerys' distaste of House Lannister. Such contempt was on full display on the early winter's morning when she sought on her father's order the appropriate lodgings for the Warden of the West due to his attending the royal wedding.

_The nerve of that cunt._ Cersei's hands balled at their sides, the red in her vision blocking out all else. _I am a lady of House Lannister! We were Kings while they were nothing but goatherders in Valyria!_ Jon Arryn and that oaf Mace Tyrell both acquired premium guest chambers in the keep… _This was all supposed to be mine!_ Even with letting go of her bitterness at losing Rhaegar, said bitterness cropped up at each instance of disrespect and humiliation inflicted on her by the King and his retinue - Rhaegar the only one ever respectful even as he brushed her off. _If I want to see Jaime, I'll see him when I damn well please._ Connington's dismissive threats notwithstanding.

And yet… the calm voice within her mind - increasingly present since her… health scare many moonturns before - told her the opposite. That Connington, whatever his actual motivations, bore truthful advice. That the increasingly erratic King would erupt at even seeing the golden-haired lioness. Increasingly secluded since arriving back in the capitol, that didn't mean he couldn't pop up out of nowhere right in front of her.

Perfectly made up without a hair out of place, that didn't stop Cersei ruining her maid's impeccable work by running her fingers through it. Trying not the scream in frustration.

The sudden grunt of pain from a ma threw Cersei back into reality. Blinking, a twist of her head revealed the packed training courtyard, dozens of men and women watching a man in leather armor collapse, clutching his shoulder as he wriggled moaning off the sparring floor. Catching the silver locks of Prince Rhaegar and the two Princesses viewing the spectacle right across the courtyard from her, Cersei panicked. Scrambling back until she ducked behind a large column, blocking her from view.

When she was sure she wasn't seen - she still didn't know why instinct made her hide - Cersei poked her head to peek from behind the column. There was the dual-wielding figure of Ser Arthur Dayne, pretty easy to pick out. Anyone in the south knew the Sword of the Morning. He assumed a fighting stance, one training blade kept level with his forearm while the other twisted in his wrist. Two others circled him with their own single blades. Cersei didn't recognize the tall, dashing man whose cocky facade didn't dampen with the sweat and exhaustion coating his face. The other… Cersei's eyes widened at the stockier, more guarded form of Eddard Stark.

He would have been thrilled to know that the tourney had left a big impression of him on Cersei Lannister. But at the moment, Ned's mind was everywhere but that.

Meeting the gaze of both of the Starks, Ned to his right and Brandon to his left, Arthur leveled his attack arm directly at the heir of Winterfell. Daring him to attack. Brandon did not disappoint, launching a leftward slash directly at the Sword of the Morning.

Split second behind, Ned attacked as well, swinging upward only to be deflected by the defending arm. The blades clashed, Arthur giving ground in a wide arc against Ned while his free swings pressed against Brandon… hoping to tire out the quiet wolf while forcing the wild one to grow desperate. Brows tight and face scrunched, the heir fell into the trap. Blows skilled and strong but also growing more and more furious.

Ned, however, refused to take the bait. Hanging back, committing just enough to distract Arthur's attention. _We're not going to beat him on skill and strength alone._ Probing to Arthur's right, trying to hit at his legs, the defending sword emerged from its position in a more aggressive parry. Knocking Ned back. _He protects his vulnerable points too well… where doesn't he protect?_ A wild swipe by Brandon that came just close to hitting Arthur's hand caught his attention. _Hmmm..._

Swinging around, the kingsguard swiped at Brandon's head, the heir ducking… only for the defending arm to take a chance and lunge forward. Stabbing into Brandon's belly and sending him careening to the ground. "Ah shit!" coughed the wild wolf, smacking his palm on the stone.

One on one.

An inaudible gasp left Cersei's lips, eyes unable to tear themselves away even if she wanted to. Eddard Stark was alone, facing none other than Arthur Dayne. An eventuality that would drive even the most determined man to distraction, yet he refused to be cowed. Face solemn and hard… calculating, far different than the softness she had seen in him before. Heat pooled within her, joining with the apprehension. _My gods..._

"End it Arthur!" hooted Oswell. Much as Rhaegar did want to see his goodbrother do well, he agreed with the skeptical looks on his men… and even the Northerners. There was no way the Northerner would beat the Sword of the Morning.

Taking the sentiment to heart, the Falling Star went on the offensive. Charging furiously at the direwolf, twin blades never giving a moment of rest. Ned tried to chop with two hands, but the quick swings denied him that chance. Wrist aching as he struggled to one-handedly parry each of Arthur's attacks.

Lyanna watched, entranced at the back and forth just as all the others were. "He's better than Ned."

"Far better," was Elia's response. "Your brother, he thinks. Not like the others."

"Could he think his way out of this?"

A shrug. "I doubt it. Arthur's too good."

Each swing was tiring him out, each clash driving him further to exhaustion. Both blades crashed against his, Arthur determined to force Ned to heel, but Ned merely looked for his opening. For the killing blow Arthur would make. One that gave Ned the chance to try something. _Hit him where he doesn't expect a blow… where he is weak in countering._ And it came, Arthur's right arm parrying a wild strike by Ned as his left angled back to deliver an upward strike. Ned doubled back his blade with one last gasp of agility and lunged straight for Arthur's left wrist...

An echo rang out, sword clanging atop the stone. Nothing but the sharp intake of breath and the panting of the two combatants left standing. Finally paused in their clash, chests heaving and sweat dripping… Ned's sword pointing at Arthur's neck. Green eyes wide from under the helm, grey eyes just as wide.

Brandon was open mouthed.

Rhaegar could barely move in his shock.

Lyanna and Elia both shared the complexion of owls.

And from behind the column, Cersei felt her heart beating out of her chest. Unknowingly crossing her legs.

"Yield," Arthur finally said, rubbing at his struck hand just as Ned dropped his guard. Spar over. "Smart move, Stark," he offered, small smirk on his face. "I wish you well in the wars to come… not that you need it." Ned, catching his breath, returned it with a smile of his own. Not faint praise.

"How the fuck did you do that?" Ethan Glover blurted out.

"I'll tell you how he did," Rhaegar beamed, racing out to clasp his goodbrother on the back. "Scoping out his foe's weaknesses. Finding a proper attack point… this is a man I will be proud to have by my side in the wars to come!" Pulled out of their collective shock, the entire gathering began applauding, cheering. Brandon walking over to thump Ned on the shoulder while Lyanna whistled, their praise for their brother pouring out. This would certainly go in the histories - judging by the young acolyte's frantic scribbling.

As the cheering died down, Ned staggered to the refreshment table set up for the fighters, pouring a cup of the liquid provided. Downing the watered wine, letting the slightly sour liquid quench his throat, Ned watched as Rhaegar grabbed a practice sword. "Come on, Ned, my turn now."

He groaned. "I'm out. Exhausted."

"Fuck that. Don't be a weak woman. Get over here." He took a sparring stance, spurning all forms of armor for a simple thin tunic. "If you can beat the Sword of the Morning you can face your Prince. That's my command."

Sighing, Ned finished his cup and picked up the blade, moving back to the center of the courtyard. "Your move, my Prince." Rhaegar grinned before he lunged forward, blades striking each other for a split second before they began their dance.

Lyanna watched it intently, eyes locked on not her brother, but her soon to be husband. The way his muscles rippled under the tunic that did no favors in covering them. His long silver hair matted by the sheen of sweat on his forehead. The fluid movements showing off his immense prowess at war… Lyanna's core flooded with wetness. _Gods, he is just… a… a man._ "Magnificent… isn't he?"

For the Dornish Princess, seeing her husband in such a moment - and her future sister-wife practically coming to orgasm beside her - it was causing her nethers to grow wet as well. "We are very lucky," Elia finally croaked.

Neither of them noticed the green-eyed blonde across the courtyard, eyes staring just as intently. Join of her legs just as aroused looking upon the sparring. Only her eyes weren't trained on the Crown Prince.

* * *

"Come on, Rhaegar…" Lyanna whined, giggling as her beloved pulled her along the corridors of the Red Keep. Dress billowing behind her even as her athletic legs kept up with Rhaegar's large strides. "Tell me where you're taking me."

Feeling like the carefree lad he never was allowed to be - racing about the hallways desperate to impress the girl he was enamored with - Rhaegar tilted his head around to wink at Lyanna. "Wouldn't you like to know."

She pursed her lips crossly. "Oh shut it, of course I want to know." They both turned a corner, Rhaegar slowing to a walk. Handsome and simply… manly, after his spar with her brother concluded in a triumph for her betrothed. A hard fought one though, Rhaegar covered in sweat and musk and… _oh gods…_ Her insides quivered just looking at him. Stopping in the middle of the hallway, she pulled him close against her under the coffered ceiling vaults towering high above and inlaid with mosaics and gold leaf. Such stupendous beauty and splendor for a daughter of the North - but Lyanna only had eyes for Rhaegar, her dashing Dragon Prince. "You come out of your sparring, all sexy and such…"

Rhaegar watched her suck her bottom lip between pearly white teeth. Her smile stirring him to painful arousal. "Oh really?"

"Aye." Lyanna ran her fingers down the length of Rhaegar's tunic, inhaling his musky scent. Confidence in her sexual expression growing by the day. "There was nothing that I wanted more than to take you to my chambers and devour you… and yet we are here instead of there." While her face radiated innocence, her stormy grey eyes were anything but. "Why is that?"

Surging forward, enveloping her in a savage kiss that stole both their breaths away, Rhaegar held her trim waist. Pulling back only when he needed air. "You'll see, Lya. I pledge on my honor that you will find it to your liking." At her deep inhale and nod, Rhaegar took her hand again and guided her down the tiled hallways. They were devoid apart from the errant guard or servant, bowing deeply and then going about their business.

In barely a minute, both of them reached two large ironwood doors. "So, am I here to see a pair of doors?"

Rhaegar rolled his eyes. "Must you be difficult?"

"Yes," she smirked back, causing him to grin at her. It was just so easy to slip into the back and forth of a compatible couple.

Fingers closing around the handles of the entranceway, Rhaegar looked back. "Oh, close your eyes."

"Rhaegar, really?" Lyanna huffed, hands on her hips. "We're not children…"

"Please?" he urged. Sighing, his soon to be wife complied, tapping her feet upon the stone floor impatiently. Not wasting more time, Rhaegar threw open the doors for her. "Go inside."

Gingerly walking forward, Lyanna's mind wandered in speculation. "Before I open my eyes, can you give me some kind of hint?" The she-wolf wanted to see if she could guess his surprise.

Placing his hands on her from behind, Rhaegar chuckled and placed a gentle kiss on her pale neck. "I promised that I would never chain you. That my future Queen would never have to become someone she isn't, become a different person than the one I fell in love with." His words were eloquent, the best of the volumes of poetry and epic stories his mother and maester had made him read during his childhood. "Well, here we are."

_Hmmm… interesting._ She didn't smell the hay or dirt of a stable so it couldn't have been something regarding Winter - her horse had taken to the large stables of the Red Keep like a fish took to water. Had it regarded her swordsmanship, they would have stayed in the training grounds. "Alright, my love. Can I open my eyes now?"

"Do it." Rhaegar felt like a kid on his nameday, eager for presents.

Lids fluttering back to see what he seemed so desperate to show her, it took a moment for it to register in her vision. Jaw dropping in shock and wonder as she twirled around. Eyes staring at the vast expanse she was suddenly in the middle of. "Rhaegar…"

A library, two stories tall and letting in direct sunlight from a series of large glass windows and a dazzling array of colors from various stained glass displays of Targaryen Kings long past. Surrounding the walls and branching out onto the open space were stacks and stacks of books. Thin picturebooks, massive tomes, intricately bound novels and epic poems, ancient scrolls. Lyanna even found a section filled with texts in the style of the Free Cities, of far flung lands whose books only made it in dribs and drabs to the Winterfell library. She had spent most of her time not sleeping or running wild outside the castle walls among the books, and this library had to be ten times as massive.

Lyanna turned to her future husband. Eyes glassy as she regarded him yet again with new eyes. "What is this, my love?" He had sworn to her that he would never chain her, that it was her wild, iconoclast nature that formed the basis of his love… but to see such a feeling expressed in reality… She was close to trembling, so vast was her love for him.

"When Maegor built the Red Keep, he didn't include a library. Concerned he was on other matters. It was Jaehaerys that commissioned this collection, expanded greatly by Aerys I." Rhaegar fell into step behind her, Lyanna pulling out a tome on the history of the North. Similar to what was in the Winterfell library, but simply thicker with information. "My grandfather, Aegon remodeled it into its current glory… the largest library in the known world, aside from the Citadel and the Great Library of Braavos. They say the Yi Ti have one as big, but they are an enigma."

Hand tracing several paragraphs of these one burning of Winterfell by the Bolton Red Kong's, Lyanna set the volume down and turned towards him. Seeing over his shoulder the vast collection of thousands of volumes - imagining how giddy her childhood self would have been here, all muddy from riding in the Wolfswood yet excited to sit at a bench and devour the histories of the Realm and the legends of Old Valyria and the Age of Heroes. And now, even close to marriage to the Crown Prince, Lyanna had to bite back a squeal of delight. "And all this?"

"All yours, my love," came the response.

Unable to contain herself, Lyanna flung herself at Rhaegar. Heart bursting with love and eyelids brimming with tears of joy. "You perfect… beautiful man." Frantic lips pressed all over his face, Lyanna desperately needing to show just how much Rhaegar meant to her. "I love you so much… thank you for this." Beaming, she kissed him again - longer and deeper.

Crushing her to his chest, needing her flush against him, Rhaegar took quick control of the kiss. Plundering her mouth. Wanting his powerful direwolf to feel loved and cherished. To be known as the latest of the mighty Targaryen Queens, unchained and free as the dragons they rode. The kiss broke, his hand moving to cup her cheek. "Lyanna…"

She gazed at him with hooded eyes. "I can't wait to read every volume in this library… but what are we still doing here, my dragon?"

Hesitating no longer, Rhaegar lifted Lyanna into his arms, drinking in her joyous laughter as he raced back to their chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was fun to write! All the girls are enjoying the view of their respective men... even if they aren't their men... yet ;)
> 
> About Ned beating Ser Arthur in the end... I know Arthur is better than Ned. Basically better than anyone in the seven kingdoms. He was only defeated in the canon fight cause he was stabbed in the back. This shows that his senses aren't infallible. After beating all the other fighters, seeking to just end the spar, Ned basically used a trick and brains to score a one in a thousand killing blow... plus I thought it would be fun to have the legend be true. Ned defeats the Sword of the Morning, and no one gets hurt except for some bruised egos :D
> 
> Cersei still has the brattiness that comes from being Tywin's daughter raised to be Queen, that was unavoidable. But perhaps some unconditional love from a kind man is just what the Maester ordered.
> 
> Elia and Lyanna have a good relationship so far, but it's not going to be two dimensional. Very complex that will play out over multiple chapters.
> 
> Couldn't help but put the library scene in. Hammers home the contrast between Rhaegar and Robert. I can imagine Lyanna with little Jon, teaching him how to read :)
> 
> Next up, Ned and Cersei have a moment, and Robert is a baaad boy ;)


	16. Two Men, Three Loves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody. A little under the weather at the moment :(
> 
> Nevertheless, here's the promised update. Lots of stuff to digest.
> 
> Be sure to check out some awesome stories: Wolves of War by GulfYankee23 (on fanfiction.net), Howl of the Dragonwolves by Elphaba818, Kingdom of Ice and Fire by WhiteDragonWolf, and From the Ashes Begin Anew by bykim0120.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

"One year younger than Princess Lyanna?" Ser Oswell Whent asked.

Ned nodded, hands behind his back as the two strolled through the hallways of Maegor Holdfast's guest wing. "Aye, ten and six, strapping young lad… at least that's what the letters told me." Much to Ned's sorrow, he hadn't seen Benjen in years…_ gods, would I even recognize my own brother?_ "Trained by the master-at-arms of Winterfell since he could hold a sword."

"A silver stag says that the Princess taught him a few moves."

"I can't take a bet I know I'd lose," Ned laughed in return.

While a bit hostile when sizing him up days before, Oswell treated him as a brother in arms since the spar. "I'll have to tell you, Ned, there hasn't been a Northerner in the Kingsguard since… gods, must have been since Old King Jaehaerys."

"Most northerners find knighthood ridiculous," Ned replied.

Oswell shrugged. "Eh, it's the code we all grew up with. I think concepts of chivalry and honor run in every culture.."

"Certainly do. Benjen… he always planned to go to the Night's Watch, but the little boy pretending to be Aemon the Dragonknight would leap at the chance, I am sure." He shook his head. "Just a damn shame that Kingsguards can't wed or father children."

"You'd think so, but I think there is a loophole. If you don't marry and don't acknowledge the child as yours officially…"

"Huh, interesting… There's my brother's room." The plan was for Ned and Brandon to teach some new Household Guard recruits Northern fighting styles. _Something to do._

But just before Ned knocked on the door, he heard a female moan. Followed by a distinctly male grunt. "Fuck… so tight…"

_Does he have a whore in there? A chambermaid?_ Knowing Brandon's reputation, it would not shock Ned. "Oh, don't stop, Lord Stark…" That breathless voice did shock Ned.

Oswell apparently recognized the voice. "Catelyn Tully?" Slowly backing away from the door, he began to giggle. "Oh, that prim and proper little cunt… imagine what Lord Hoster would do if he heard his daughter was sinning so brazenly."

"Damn you, Bran," Ned groaned, the sounds of fervent copulation loud enough to reach even where they stood, two yards from the closed chamber door. "Must you deflower your bride before your wedding?"

"If they're gonna be married anyway, so what?" Not all Riverlands houses were as pious as House Tully. "I figure this means the training is put on hold. Find something to enjoy around here, Ned, though I doubt it'll be as good as your brother is getting." A muffled scream of ecstasy punctuated the train of thought.

Wandering through the garden aimlessly, Ned reflected on the lives of his siblings. While part of him wanted to smack Brandon upside the head for being reckless, truly he was happy for his brother. _Bran marrying Catelyn, Benjen a Kingsguard, Lyanna falling madly for Rhaegar…_ Any initial worry and dismay had given way in the face of the Crown Prince's gentle heart and carefree personality deep down. A lifelong friend if Ned's instincts were correct. And Princess Elia… he no longer worried about her.

_And that only leaves me._ His father wanted Ned to manage Winterfell while Brandon continued to make connections within King's Landing for several moonturns, to hold the fort and help his future goodsister get acclimated to living in the North. After that… Ned truly had nothing holding him down anywhere. Second son, not committed to one of the warrior guilds as third sons usually were. Perhaps he'd get a keep somewhere, or secure a position on the small council on Rhaegar's patronage? A likely fallback…

Cool yet pleasant ocean winds calming his leather-clad form sweating under the southern sun, one thing remained completely unresolved. His love life. Being that second son gave him options, the freedom from forging alliances that Brandon or Lyanna didn't have - much as both of them found love matches. Plenty of maidens in the Vale or the North would die to snap up the Crown Prince's goodbrother, but when imagining a future bride only one came to Eddard Stark's mind.

Turning a corner, Ned stopped in his tracks. Resting against a low wall within a gazebo by the cliffside was the object of his imagination. Wearing a loose, ankle-length cerise gown with bell sleeves that somehow did little to hide her graceful figure, long blonde hair flowing freely behind her, she looked angelic. Completely out of his league, yet one Ned couldn't help but feel drawn to. Sucking in a breath, he walked towards her.

Having just visited her own brother, Cersei Lannister had to escape. The gardens of Casterly Rock provided such a refuge, and these did as well. Enjoying the moment alone until steps were heard behind her. A quick turn of the head found someone she was far keener on not seeing. "Lord Stark."

"Lady Lannister." Ned saw how she immediately looked back at the bay, but stepped into the space next to her nevertheless. "I believe this is the first time we've spoken since the hallway at Harrenhal." No reaction from her, but he wasn't a stubborn direwolf for nothing. "I wasn't able to apologize for that, so forgive me for my clumsiness."

Cersei snorted. "You speak to me just for that? Northern fool," she muttered, though part of her enjoyed hearing his brogue. Delightfully exotic from the cultured accents she associated with all her life.

He was not deterred. Ned just wanted to speak with her… Brandon would have called him a glutton for punishment. "Did you come to see your brother?" No answer. "I've met Ser Jaime. My sister speaks very highly of him, the Lion of Lannister."

A laugh escaped Cersei's lips, dripping with sarcasm. "They actually call him that?" It was ridiculous. She then realized he was… charming her. _What is wrong with me?_ "Did you know this could have been mine?" That would drive him away.

Ned blinked. "Why?"

"My father wished to betroth me to Prince Rhaegar. Practically begged his Grace, only to be denied." The wound was still somehow raw, a life of being raised to be Queen falling apart just at the cusp… and yet at the spar, her hungry gaze wasn't on Rhaegar…

It took moments for him to answer that. "The gods… they work in mysterious ways…"

"Don't tell me you actually believe that?" Cersei made the mistake of looking at him. And now that she did she couldn't turn away.

"Everything is for a reason, my Lady," Ned said honestly, captivated by her green eyes. "My goodbrother, seeing him happy with my sister shows he wouldn't have been happy with you, and I think you know that it is the same the other way around." Political marriages were the norm in Westeros, but with advantage didn't come happiness. Ned had seen it, if not firsthand.

_I want Rhaegar… I want to be Queen… I was born, trained to be Queen…_ And yet her thoughts… they merely proved him right. Wanting Rhaegar out of mere belief it was her path. But meeting those grey eyes of his, staring at her. The softness from Harrenhal had returned, but after the fierceness at fighting Ser Arthur, Cersei saw it in a new light. Gentle, not weak. Caring, not flowery. Her entire world felt like it was spinning on an axis.

"Why do you keep doing that?" she finally blurted out.

Ned blinked. "What?"

"That... stare... You keep staring at me like that. Stop."

"I apologize, my Lady." He truly didn't know why himself. Cersei was nothing but rude and bitchy, and yet the spare heir of House Stark felt drawn to her. Be it her beauty or something else...

"Why do you do that?" She ran a hand through her hair, huffing. "Why do I do it?" For days she couldn't get him out of her mind, fighting and sparring with the power of a wolf. _He's a damned second son, unworthy of a daughter of House Lannister. A northern barbarian that her father would never let her marry._ Gods, her thoughts were a mess.

Watching every color of emotion flash across her face, Ned didn't know what to think. "My Lady…"

Seven hells. Without warning, Cersei grabbed the Stark by the straps of his leathers. Pulling him toward her. Mouths meeting in an abrupt kiss. It was impulsive, borne from a desire to just see what it felt like. Smother the feelings by letting them happen, and yet…

They felt soft, warm… inviting. Just as his dreams were, yet far better. Ned soon felt Cersei sigh. Melting into the kiss, tension leaving her as he placed his arms at her slim waist. Lips parting as their tongues met. Gods… it was wonderful.

How good it felt, how… right it felt, several seconds of bliss ended once Cersei heard her father's disapproval ringing in her head. The same anger that had meted out to her when she was caught kissing one of the stableboys out of curiosity. _A Lannister of Casterly Rock… one who never sells herself cheap._ _Never to someone lesser._ And here she was, kissing a second son of a Northern Lord.

Just as abruptly as she had begun the kiss, she ended it. Pushing him away. "Stay away from me, northern bumpkin." Heart pounding, she turned and stormed off.

Standing there, unable to move, Only a hand against a column kept Ned from falling. Gods help him, but he couldn't help but want this woman more.

* * *

Nervously biting her lip, Lyanna tightened her hold on Rhaegar's arm. Letting her beloved guide her down the collonaded vault towards the Iron Throne. Never had she expected to be in this august and awe-inspiring hall. To be before the throne forged by Aegon the Conqueror himself, betrothed to the most beautiful, dashing, amazing Prince… But as the various courtiers, eyes gawking at the novelty of a Northern Princess being officially presented to them, the King, and the gods, she couldn't help feel slightly overwhelmed.

"You're going to be fine, my love." Rhaegar's whispered words calmed her, sending a feeling of serenity through Lyanna just as much as Elia's coaching had from only minutes before, outside the hall, had steeled her for the formal beginning of their betrothal. The Princess and soon to be her sister-wife had made her way to the base of the Iron Throne ahead of them, and Lyanna could see her comforting brown eyes urging her to continue.

Head high, smile on her face, and just ever so slightly leaning into her Prince, Lyanna would not be intimidated by the stares of the sycophants and favor curriers of Court. She remembered some of their faces from how Jon Arryn pointed them out. A balding man with a toad-like face. _Lord Merryweather._ A young man with silver-gold hair. _Ser Monford Velaryon, heir to the Driftmark._ A hard-faced knight. _Ser Willam Derry, Master-at-Arms at the Red Keep._ Lyanna could almost feel Rhaegar and Elia's pride for her… the latter nearly as important as the former. Her eyes drifting to Robert Baratheon of all people, it immediately shifted away, snubbing him.

Lyanna hid a smirk at how it gave made him wince.

At the base of the Throne was the Small Council, including Elia and her family. Lord Rickard and her brothers both smiling at her, giving Lyanna added strength. Beside the King himself - impeccably dressed form in royal robes and the ornate golden crown of Aegon IV sitting upon his head - stood the Red Griffin Jon Connington and the impossibly fat High Septon. "Presenting before his Grace and the light of the Seven," Rhaegar announced in a loud voice. "The Lady Lyanna of House Stark. A woman true of birth and pure of heart." Lyanna shuddered at the timbre of her Rhaegar's voice.

"I recognize the presentment of Lady Lyanna before the Royal Court," states Jon Connington, going by the script. Such had occurred for both Duncan and Aerys' betrothals, not to mention Rhaegar's with Elia in his lifetime. "She seeks formal recognition of her betrothal to the Crown Prince from the authority of King and gods."

With how central the Faith found itself in the royal tradition after the reforms of Jaehaerys I and Baelor the Blessed, it was the High Septon that descended first. Jowls of fat jostling for each step he took, Lyanna resisted a shudder when he clasped her hands with his - everyone knew where he put those hands. Only the children sharing his bed would also share his stash of sweetmeats. "Lady Lyanna, do you swear by the Seven to give your life to serve for the Seven Kingdoms?"

"I shall, your High Holiness."

Mentioning the names of each of the Seven, he drew a Seven-Pointed Star with a finger dipped in blessed oil on Lyanna's forehead. Surprising the High Septon, a glint of sunlight suddenly shone atop the star. "She has been anointed by the gods." Blinking in awe, he drew back. Handing the floor to the King himself.

"Well, my son," Aerys remarked. "You look more alive than I've ever seen. That…" he waved his spindly fingers at Rhaegar. "Annoying, brooding frown is finally gone."

Twinkling eyes found Elia, who smiled softly. From how Lyanna stood even taller in the corner of his eyes, Rhaegar could tell the smile reached his bride. "Your Grace, due to the decision of yours to extend my hand to Lady Lyanna, I have grown happier." He could see his father puff up at the praise. "Carrying out the will of the King brings me the greatest joy."

Aerys nodded. "The Young Dragon reborn, indeed. You and I will do great things, Rhaegar." His eyes shifted to Lyanna. "And you, Lady Stark. Are you prepared to be a proper Queen to my son?"

"Of course, your Grace." Lyanna curtseyed, eyes remaining on the King. "I am both his and yours to command…"

Suddenly his generally pleased expression turned sour. "Stop!" he barked. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Ahead of her, Elia's face froze to that of an owl - everyone else was as confused as Lyanna was, but she seemed to understand. "Your Grace?"

"That curtsey. You are to supplicate your eyes to the ground when in the presence of the King."

Mind racing, perhaps Lyanna remembered when Jon Arryn explained the simple etiquette to her. It seemed so minute, she may have forgotten. "Your Grace… forgive me for my lapse…"

Aerys didn't care to hear her. "I should have realized this. An uncultured wildling from the North, not versed in proper civilization. Lord Rickard!" he addressed his Master of Laws, the aging Lord of Winterfell withdrawing behind a flat facade out of self-preservation. "Do you even teach proper manners in that frozen wasteland?"

"I… we… We can always do better, my King," he finally responded, shooting a quick look of apology at his daughter when the King was distracted.

"Your Grace." Rhaegar had flashbacks to the first presentment with Elia, only that one had been after their marriage. Equally disastrous as that had been. "I ask you to consider the circumstances…"

"When will I ever learn?" The King only heard himself. Waxing poetic like a drunk Bravosi philosopher. "I should have realized that foreign mongrel blood could only result in half-breed children unable to take the mantle of a proper Dragon. Daeron II, my own idiot father, and now my son's children from this Dornish whore." Insults of Elia were almost commonplace at this point, and the Princess let it roll off her back. "And now the new one ends up being dressed like some harlot."

There was no doubt Lyanna was beautiful. Her grey gown seemed to shimmer, the normal simplistic swirls and shapes replaced by a sort of floral arrangement - muted green leaves and stems trailing up the side parallel to Lyanna's arms, lavender flower decorations framing the lower cut of her dress just above her breasts. Her sleeves hung down in the style of the Crownlands, contrasted by the simple northern free waves of her chestnut hair.

But to the King, once his mood fell he found anything to criticize over it. "Look at this… disgusting thing. Unlike what some of you cunts thing," he hissed at the court itself. "This is not a brothel. Shape up before I have you all caned - and I'll do this uncultured harlot first if she doesn't change." He stood, shaking his head. "I am disappointed in you, Prince Rhaegar." Mumbling profanities to himself, he stormed out of the room. Leaving a stunned court behind to simply stare at the shock still Lady Lyanna. Her form trembling slightly.

Ned walked forward, wanting to embrace his sister, but was stopped by Elia. "In private." Seeing the Stark son heed her warning, she approached her husband. "Get her out of here, husband." Better this be dealt with away from the vultures of Court.

* * *

"Oh, my Prince…" Cuddled on the bed in her guest chambers with her betrothed, chestnut hair all tangled in a fair approximation of a bird's nest, Lyanna shivered with the aftershocks of her climax. "I feel better now."

A dark silver eyebrow rose, Crown Prince casting a look down at the face resting upon his bare chest. Clothed body curled flush against him - though the hemline of Lyanna's dress was hiked up significantly. Supremely sinful, and quite distracting. "I'm glad, Lady Stark?" Gods… it was as if they were Jaehaerys and Alysanne, married for decades and still passionately in love. He just felt so comfortable in her embrace. A feeling that he felt with Elia… "I'm sorry, for what you went through in the throne room."

Lyanna sighed, holding on tighter to her love. "I shouldn't have been surprised that his Grace would act like that. Everyone warned me." Unfortunately, she had gotten complacent. Too enchanted by the love Rhaegar, Rhaella, Elia, and the children were giving her to properly guard herself. "My fault, for exposing myself…"

"Never think that, my love. It isn't your fault." Not hers, and not Elia's… "Never your fault." Rhaegar felt so impotent, only able to comfort his betrothed after the fact rather than actually stand up for her - not that he did either for Elia. His greatest regret. A hand stroked at his back. "I'm here for you, Lya."

Inhaling his scent, she cuddled closer. Not wanting an inch of space between them. "I love you, Rhaegar."

"I love you too, Lyanna."

"You've given me everything I could ever want."

"I could say the same." He leaned down to kiss the crown of her head. She was right when she said everything felt like a dream sometimes. _It can't be this easy… this happiness…_ Arthur told him often to just let loose and enjoy the golden nugget that he'd been handed - well, the way the Kingsguard said it was much more profane but that captured the general meaning. "I'll be traveling to Dragonstone for a few days."

Lyanna sighed. "I don't want to be separated a single day, my dragon." For the wild she-wolf, the loneliness at being without her dragon was unbearable - perhaps one would point out a hypocrisy, but Lyanna didn't see it that way._ The lone wolf dies…_

He tightened his embrace. "It's just for a few days… to prepare the keep for our arrival after the wedding."

"Good point, my love." Another sigh. "Oh well, I suppose I'll spend more time with my brothers, or Rhaenys and Aegon."

Stroking her back over the woolen grey dress, Rhaegar smiled widely. "My daughter has taken a liking to you." Seeing his beloved interact with his little dragon, it was a sight that brought him a soothing joy. "This morning, she leapt in my arms, gushing about how 'Lwyanna' finally gives someone to play dragons with her."

The she-wolf laughed merrily. "How can I not love her, Rhaegar? She's so precious." Truth be told, Lyanna felt a pull around her betrothed's children… as if somehow she was meant to be just as much a mother to them as Elia. She still worried about usurping her sister-wife, careful about not denying Rhaenys especially time with the Dornish Princess. "I see how much you and Elia love them, and Gods help me but I'm starting to love them as much."

Gently grasping her chin, Rhaegar looked deep into her eyes. "You truly are perfect, my wolf." They kissed deeply, tongues slowly tangling before releasing. "And Elia? I see you two are getting along." Truth be told, he had experienced many sleepless nights in apprehension over them.

Lyanna kept her gaze upon his eyes. "I can see why you spoke highly of her. Elia is the type of Queen you will need - smart and savvy. I hope I'm half as politically astute as she is, your Rhaenys to my Visenya as you so often put it." She wriggled up his body till her face rested in the crook of his neck. "There's not much I want more than to have a good relationship with her."

Splaying his hand on her lower back, Rhaegar smiled softly. "You know, Rhaenyra and Alicent absolutely despised each other, fighting for years over who would be the senior lady in court. Jealousy and bitter pride poisoning the entire court of Viserys I." He didn't want to put the idea in his direwolf's head, but Rhaegar had to know. "Did you ever have any urge to fight over me?"

Two grey eyes found him, narrowing. "Don't get too cocky, my Prince." It was a teasing tone.

"I'm just curious."

She giggled. "Frankly… no. I never had that urge."

"Oh? And why is that?"

Surprisingly, she blushed. "It's embarrassing."

His interest was piqued. "Tell me, my love."

There were many reasons for Lyanna, but the reality of her true desires superseded all others. "Rhaenerya and Daemon weren't my only interests in your family, Rhaegar."

He leaned back, listening.

Taking his silence as an invitation to continue, Lyanna did so. "In my childhood, I always idolized Visenya Targaryen. Proud warrior queen fearlessly wielding Dark Sister into battle. You can imagine that a girl likely facing a life married to some old, fat lordling would find her life appealing."

"I presume nothing with you, Lyanna. You are unique."

She smirked. "Charmer." Lyanna nuzzled his chest. "In addition to wishing for my very own Prince Daemon… part of me always wanted to be Visenya Targaryen. And that included… Aegon and Rhaenys." Blushing, Lyanna felt like a pre-flowering maiden. "Gods, I must sound like a child with her head in the clouds."

"No, you don't. Hard to be that when you actually find your head in the clouds." They shared a laugh with that. "Whatever the reason, I'm glad you and Elia can get along. She's… been through so much. I haven't exactly been the best husband for her." He looked away.

Now it was Lyanna's turn to look at him queerly. "Why do you say that? Something you care to tell me, Rhaegar?" Wishing to be as honest to her as she was to him, Rhaegar proceeded to disclose everything. Their sudden marriage, how both Aerys and Prince Doran prevented either Elia or he from seeing each other until the ceremony. Of the constant verbal abuse and whisper campaigns Aerys would instigate on Elia, getting worse with each difficult pregnancy. By the end, Lyanna was silent. "He's done this before… to Elia."

He nodded. "Yes. From our marriage four years ago to now… just as with you, every damn day." Rhaegar closed his eyes. "Every time we tried to get closer as a couple… it just never worked. She could only feel my father's bitterness and her family's mistrust, and I… it was my fault for not being able to protect her." A tear fell down his cheek. "Eventually, we just stopped trying." A sad smile on her beloved's lips… "With you it's so easy, my love. I… I thought it would be the same with Elia with time. Both of you are smart, headstrong, a lot alike, but after all she's been through. The pain caused her, pain all my fault."

Hooking her leg across his hip and straddling him, Lyanna kissed her beloved. Slow and sweet, pouring love with every passing second. _Don't ever think little of yourself, my love._ Beneath the mighty prince was someone that had suffered, a raw soul in need of love - just as Elia did. _Those children deserve a loving family._

"Try her, Rhaegar… I think she'll surprise you." If the she-wolf of Winterfell had anything to say about it, Rhaegar would be gaining two loving relationships instead of just one from her arrival. It was simply so strange, encouraging him along the path in which she'd have to share him… but simply the true strangeness was how right it felt. As if it was destiny. "She loves you… just as I do. You just need to get passed this." Before he could speak, she kissed him again. Letting their mouths meld.

_Gods… I'm turning into a Targaryen._ Lyanna's girlhood dream come true.

* * *

Dimly lit by the combined yellow flicker of dozens of candles and the red-orange of the roaring hearth, the tavern was like almost any other from Dorne to the Wall. Loud, dirty, smelling of stale wine, piss, and unwashed bodies, the usual crowd of blacksmiths, washerwoman, and hedge knights looking for someone to forge them a new sword kept the place in decent business. A tidy profit.

However, that night, the collection of burly guards in stag colors drew the personal attention and service of the owner. For their Liege Lord was quite the glutton, and his coin was free flowing and plentiful. "Another," slurred the stormlord.

"My Lord," cautioned Ser Courtnay Penrose, his sworn sword. "Perhaps three is enough…"

He was cut off by a hand on his shoulder. "He says he wants another," growled Meryn Trant.

The two would have come to blows. "Fuck off, Courtnay," belted Robert Baratheon. "I'd worry more about that baboon's arse you call your head." The Knight didn't take it personally - the Lord of Storm's End had a certain way with words, especially when drunk. "Another of your finest Arbor gold!" He slammed a silver stag on the counter.

Chuckling, the owner took the coin and replaced it with a wooden goblet. "You have excellent taste, Lord Baratheon."

Goblet brought to his lips, Robert downed a third, belching. He had sparred hard that day, and was looking for fine wine and finer women to drown his sorrows. "That accent, I bet I can place it." Robert smirked. "Tarth?" A shake of the head. "Hmmmm… Blackhaven?"

"Got it, my Lord," winked the bartender and owner.

Robert laugher merrily. "I had a feeling there was some Marsh in you. How'd you end up in the privy of the Seven Kingdoms?" That drew snickers from his men.

The owner shrugged. "Followed the coin. Most lucrative here, and I got lucky. Seven above, I made my living and married a fine Northern girl from White Harbor."

"Northern, eh?" Drunken eyes landed on a dark-haired young woman serving drinks to a group of smiths. "She yours? Daughter?" A nod. "Got the look of the North." Spending time with Ned, gazing at _his_ Lyanna, Robert could notice the blood of the First Men anywhere. High cheekbones, lean yet hard figure… she could pass for the woman denied him by the dragonspawn. While plenty of women had graced his bed since arriving in the capitol, Robert's loneliness and desire for Lyanna was reaching a breaking point. "How much?"

"I'm sorry, my Lord?"

"The girl, how much for a night?"

Fire rose in the marcher's eyes. "You have some fucking nerve…"

A clink on the wooden bartop, Robert's meaty palm withdrawing to reveal a gold dragon.

"My daughter isn't a whore…"

A second clink on the wood found another gold dragon.

It seemed as if the marcher's mouth was watering at the beautifully minted gold. "I wouldn't know where this would happen…"

A third clink and a third gold dragon. "Upstairs… your room." Even drunk, Robert was quite serious when it came to satisfying his lusts.

Covetous, the owner slowly covered the coins with the palm of his hand and drew them to him. "Alys!" he called gruffly. The girl stilled, grey eyes finding her father. "Take Lord Baratheon upstairs, now."

"Father…?"

"Do what he says or you'll be fuckin' sorry, now go."

Gazing at the pretty lass with a lecherous look, Robert hauled himself up. Trying to stay upright as his head spun. "Go enjoy yourselves, men. There's only one dagger I'll be using tonight." Laughing at his own jape, Robert sidled up to the girl. "Hw're ya' tonight, beautiful?"

Gulping, the girl felt intimidated. "I am well, my Lord."

"Yer' gonna take the pride of Storm's End now. I promise ye'll enjoy it."

Eyes flickering to her father, seeing him gesture to the stairs, the girl sighed. Best get this over with. - even if she didn't want to. "My Lord, please follow me." Even if the handsome man's drunken breath revolted her, it would be over soon.

From how Robert began groping her backside almost immediately, she could only pray that was the case.

* * *

"You're developing a strong relationship with Eddard Stark."

"He's a good man. Honorable and loyal." Loosening the laces of his tunic, Rhaegar pulled the cotton garment off his chest. "Not to mention a lot of fun once he loosens up. Broods too much."

Easing her nightdress over her body before slipping off her burnt-orange gown, Elia couldn't help but sneak a look. Eyes appreciatively traveling on his muscular upper body… only to shift away when he turned to her. "You're one to talk about brooding," she gently teased. It earned a chuckle from him as Elia hid her blush. The Dragon Prince was rather informal in their private quarters, respectful, but informal.

When Elia imagined her married life, the tales of Oberyn's exotic adventures had always been at the back of her mind. Sweaty, nude bodies intertwined, and she and Rhaegar's carnal lives matched such at the times they tried to be intimate. But… along the way she had diverged into the same lifestyle as a devout member of the Faith - never nude, never bare. A gown that covered all of her. Elia resented it, but feared the opposite more.

"You should befriend him… perhaps he could be your Hand?"

"Connington will be my Hand," Rhaegar replied simply, peeling the covers of their large bed back to climb in. Oftentimes, their most important conversations happened when in bed like this. "He is my most loyal friend."

Elia slipped in as well, though with an agonizing distance between him and her husband. "Connington doesn't like me, nor the Starks. I don't think you should trust him too much… especially the way he looks at you." It was the same look Oberyn gave attractive young men, only with longing as well as lust.

A sigh. "I know… perhaps Ned would be a good Hand." Rhaegar chuckled darkly. "I'd certainly be a better friend to him than Robert."

"You should execute Robert," Elia spat. "For what he almost did to Lyanna." Honestly, Elia was not surprised she rushed to defend her soon to be sister-wife.

"I wish I could do it myself, but I can't. Perils of ruling." Rhaegar handled the burden well, especially since Elia was there to help him share it… and even better since Lyanna came and gave him the complete adoration he craved. On one hand Elia was ecstatic for her husband, while on the other… "I'll have to sail to Dragonstone for a few days. Prepare it for our household's arrival after the wedding. Will you and mother make sure Lyanna prepares for her formal presentment to court?"

Reaching out to squeeze his hand, Elia nodded. "I will."

Squeezing the olive-tanned hand back, Rhaegar felt a pull. One as strong as his with Lyanna. The call of his dragonblood to pull his mate closer. To yank her close and embrace her, to express just how much he truly loved her - his silent partner and rock for so long, mothering his children and accepting with open arms his direwolf. At the cusp of giving in…

_Her sobs echoed through the chambers. "Elia…"_

_She recoiled from his touch. "Am I a Dornish whore?"_

_The words broke his heart. "Why would you…"_

_"Tell me the truth!" she shrieked. "Am I an unclean Dornish whore?!"_

_His father. It had to be - Rhaegar had always wanted to know why Aerys betrothed him to Elia if he considered the Martells unclean, but never did ask. "My love… of course you're not…"_

_Attempting to hold her, the Princess of just five and ten slapped him. Eyes red with anger and tears. "Just get out! Get out!" Grief of his own covering his face, Rhaegar did as bid._

Rhaegar wished that had been an isolated incident, but that would be a lie. Cloistered most of her life, the still young Princess had entered into the hostile court of his garrulous, mercurial father as a supposed spy for her older brother - Varys having told him alone. He couldn't blame her for how she suffered. Only his father…

And himself.

Elia was older. Wiser. Stronger. A perfect wife and Queen in all that mattered… but there was still an indescribable sadness about her that broke his heart. Tortured his soul.

Much as he wanted with her what he had with Lyanna, Rhaegar couldn't bear to see that pain return to her. Their hands broke apart. "Good night wife," he spoke softly. If he'd have to suffer so that she wouldn't, he'd bear that burden.

Hearing his breathing level out in sleep, Elia sighed. Clutching the pillow against her side tighter - the linen-covered goose down cold against her cheek. _Cold… not my husband._ Tears began to soak the linen. It wasn't the first time in her life that the Dornish Princess wished she could cuddle close to her husband. Seek out the intimacy she so desperately craved with Rhaegar. The father of her children, the attractive Dragon Prince that stirred so many feelings inside her. But yet…

_"He is your husband, not your lover. You are to do your duty, give him Dornish heirs, and bind the Iron Throne to Dorne, that is it."_

_"See here bitch, if it wasn't for the good deal I got for you… I wouldn't sully my line with your mongrel blood…"_

_"This child smells Dornish. Like her mother, so get her out of my sight!"_

Begging for intimacy, desperate of it, Elia couldn't bring herself to do it. The memories so painful in her mind. Worry eating her away, that her heart would only collapse if she opened it… only to be rejected. Such was what formed their routine. Guided both her and Rhaegar into the partnership that worked so well. That calmed the tempest of the Seven Kingdoms and birthed two beautiful babes. The light of both of their lives.

But said routine of reality had suddenly blown apart by the howling winds of the north. By the beautiful, kind, utterly amazing she-wolf that had roared into their lives and seemed to occupy a place not able to dislodge. Rhaegar loved her, Rhaenys loved her, Aegon loved her, Rhaella loved her… seven hells, even Elia was growing to love her. A friend, a confidant, a fellow traveller in the poison-filled waters of King's Landing, willing to defend their family to the death if need be.

_Oberyn would say I crave to see her as the sister I never had._

_Ellaria would say I want her as much as I do Rhaegar._

_Doran would say I should be on my toes. Ready at a moment's notice to defend Aegon's birthright from the northern interlopers._

Elia would dismiss both, but truth be told she didn't know what to think. Didn't know what to believe. _Lyanna is providing Rhaegar the love that I cannot… Lyanna loves Aegon, would never steal from him… Rhaegar would never hurt me… I am content with my life..._

All was broken when a strong arm wrapped around Elia. Pulling her around and tugging her against the hard plane of her husband's chest. "Elia… my wife…"

Walls breaking, at least for now, she closed all distance between them. Holding him close. "We lost so much, Rhaegar… but I can't lose you. I…"

In agony, only with her in his arms did he begin to feel his heart calm. His pain begin to ebb - just as with Lyanna, a maze of feelings just as strong beginning to reform. "You won't, Elia. You won't," he murmured, stroking her hair.

Aegon the Conqueror. Could he be Aegon the Conqueror? _He was capable of loving more than one and so will you - it is in the dragon's blood._ His uncle Aemon's words… gods, he prayed for them to be true.

Rhaegar couldn't imagine his life without either of his beauties in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit, Cersei lusting for Ned is very fun to write. Her dress is the one from when Ned confronted Cersei in season 1. Oh the irony XD
> 
> Aerys... he's decompensating. Getting worse and worse, and now Lyanna is a target.
> 
> Elia and Rhaegar's relationship is hard to construct, largely cause it's very subtle and complicated. They are guarded with each other even though they love each other, and while Lyanna may make her jealous, there's a connection there that is driving Elia to try and rekindle things with Rhaegar and vice versa. There's gonna be many layers here. It may seem to be quickly going well, but that's a bit deceptive.
> 
> So... perhaps a certain blacksmith we all know may have been conceived...
> 
> If I get 50 comments, I will update Friday.
> 
> Next up, Ellaria and Dacey have an interesting conversation ;)


	17. All in the Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go :D
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

Pushing his chest up off the sweat-drenched skin directly below him, the Dornish Prince redoubled his angle and thrust his hips forward. Cock spearing through the tight channel slick with the finest Lysene oils. "Gods…" he grunted.

Head turned to the side, his newest lover's mouth was open in a silent scream. "Fuck… me… Prince…" she gasped in broken Common Tongue, her Yi Ti-ish accent alluringly exotic. "So… good…" Arching her back, she impaled his cock even deeper into her ass, burying her face into the pillow to silence her screams. Her alabaster skin and slanted eyes contrasting deliciously with his swarthy features.

Oberyn Martell grinned. He loved the beautiful yet inexperienced - tight and explosively orgasmic. Delighted that he was to scandalize even the rather libertine Dornish society, he had seen blushing maidens fuck like wanton whores once he was done. Like the lone spice trader with whom he and his entourage hitched a ride to King's Landing. Hard and aloof at first, but after several days practically dragging him into her chambers.

"So… close… my… Prince…" Her voice was hoarse from previous bouts of lovemaking. The exotic appearance - his first Yi Ti lover, ironically enough - drove Oberyn mad with lust, hard enough to spear through her rosebud. Exciting him to be her first.

"Erupt for me, slut." One hand kneading a bouncing breast, Oberyn sank his teeth into her pale skin just as his cock bottomed out inside her. Feeling her rosebud clench hard around him, her screams echoing within the cabin. Lover collapsing spent onto the bed.

Pulling out, Oberyn chuckled lightly at her lazy hiss - kissing the flushed skin. "Such a beautiful woman."

"Mmmmm…"

"You have improved greatly. One of the best lovers I've had in the longest time."

"Mmmmm…"

Pulling on his loose silk tunic and trousers, Oberyn pulled the thin covers on top of his lover's back. "I shall return for supper," he said as he clipped the curved Dornish scimitar to his hip. "Then we shall go again." He didn't know how much of it she understood, given neither spoke their native languages. _The language of love is universal._ If he'd see her in several years with a young, half-Dornish babe, he wouldn't be surprised. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Roustabouts dashing about on their various tasks, the front bank of sails unfurled to catch the trade winds blowing off the Pentosi coast. "Should be hitting King's Landing in a week or two," commented the first mate that morning. Oberyn was lucky that he had found a steady source of female cunt, else he'd be lost in his thoughts. Increasingly dark and angry. Several of the guards were already splinting sprained limbs from how he lashed out during their sparring sessions. _Damn you, Rhaegar. Damn you._ It had been him that argued to Doran not to send their innocent sister to the King's Landing viper den, but there she was about to suffer the worst humiliation.

"I know what you're thinking." Oberyn turned to find Ser Gulian Qorgyle, his best friend and foster brother from his time at Sandstone. One of the few men that could both keep up with his sense of adventure… and expansive sexual appetite. "You're not going to kill the Prince."

"And why shouldn't I?" huffed the Prince, knowing how petulant he was acting but not caring.

Qorgyle met his glare. "Because that would leave your sister without a brother." _Fuck, he has a point._ "And the whores from Volantis to the Wall will cry, women and men." _Fuck, a double point._

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not going to make it easy on him. Aegon will sit on the Iron Throne by hook or by crook." On this, Qorgyle nodded - from Doran on down, the Dornish nobility would not condone being in the Seven Kingdoms any longer unless the marriage alliance was respected.

The sudden footfall upon the wooden deck shook Oberyn from his thoughts. Eyes alert, quick footwork from his light combat stance sent his careening effortlessly out of the way as the spear lunged where his stomach had been. The Prince of Dorne drew his scimitar and spun it to block the counterswipe of the attacker. Steel clashing against gleaming bronze as the attacker redoubled, twirling her spear above her head before charging at the far taller target...

Only for Oberyn's skilled swordsmanship to knock the spear out of the attacker's hand, palm flying out to smack between her neck and breastbone - sending her sprawling onto the deck. Lips curling into a smirk, Oberyn reached down with his hand. "A valiant effort, my dear. But it is clear you need more training to properly face the Red Viper."

Eight year old Obara Sand scowled, nonetheless taking her father's hand to haul her up in spite of her humiliation. "How did you spot me?" she asked incredulously, rubbing her sore bottom. "I made sure I was hidden until the right moment."

"Footfalls." Ruffling his daughter's hair, he chuckled. "A proper warrior of the ambush makes sure her feet make no noise upon the ground." At the girl's curses, his chuckles turned to laughs. Bringing Obara and Nymeria along helped just as much as fucking to calm his anger. "Go on and find your sister. Get her some supper and then continue to train."

Bowing to her father, Obara turned, muttering something about burying a spear in Prince Rhaegar's head. "Aye, she's clearly your daughter," quipped Qorgyle.

* * *

"You know," Ellaria Sand stated as she tilted her head back, dark eyes following the northerner currently walking towards the tray of drinks. "It is usually the host that chooses the refreshments." She put a heavier emphasis on her sultry Dornish accent, something she was wont to do when meeting someone new… especially someone as gorgeous as the Mormont of Bear Island.

Displaying the classically northern bluntness that added to her wild beauty - much like her lady the future Princess - Dacey Mormont waved her off. "You are in my rooms, Lady Ellaria… wait, are bastards called 'Lady' in Dorne?"

_Bold… I like her already._ The bastard daughter of the Lord of Hellholt laughed. "Some are, some aren't. I wouldn't call myself ladylike, but I figure the position of Lady in Waiting to Princess Elia mandates it."

Dacey considered the answer. "Fair enough." Her attention shifted to the glass and metal decanters resting on the table. "Your Dornish reds are too… sour and yet subtle… how is that even fucking possible for a proper drink? Practically shit."

Patriotic sentiment dictated Ellaria should send Dacey a biting retort, but she wasn't overly patriotic for her homeland. Curious she was, however. "Oh, and what would you consider a proper drink?"

A plebian metal jug, clearly hand-forged in a northern smith, jostled as Dacey picked it up. Contrasting with the expertly blown Tyroshi crystal goblets she poured a gleaming amber liquid into. "Here, unless you're too much of a coward, Sand?"

"I'll try anything once, Mormont," Ellaria sent in riposte. Taking the goblet, she immediately knocked it back in one gulp as she would with Dornish reds or Arbor golds… Big mistake. She immediately felt a burning sensation down her throat, dainty hands curling into a fist to hit her chest. Coughing and sputtering. "Seven fucking hells…" Ellaria croaked. "What the fuck… is that?"

Grinning as she gently sipped at the liquid, Dacey leaned forward. "Barley whiskey, brewed and distilled on Bear Island. One of our biggest exports next to lumber… It'll warm ya' up, huh?"

Sure enough, a fiery heat had spread from her throat and stomach to the rest of her body rather quickly. Oddly welcome in the sudden chill, the promise of a quick spring premature. "You are more than I thought you'd be, Lady Dacey."

"Oh, and what were you expecting? Some kind of country bumpkin awed by southern finery?" The she-bear's eyes narrowed.

"Frankly, yes," came the blunt reply. There was a silent tension before suddenly both women burst into laughter. Enjoying the ice break as Ellaria held out her hand for another shot of the killer whiskey. "Perhaps if I pace myself, I'll get used to it."

Dacey topped off her goblet. "A safe assumption to make." They both settled into their seats, comfortable together for the first time since the Dornishwoman had abruptly knocked and then forced her way into Dacey's room. "I think our ladies are getting along. Old gods be good."

Ellaria clinked glasses with her Northern counterpart. "That was my main worry, at least in the short term." Crossing her legs, she kicked absentmindedly in the air. Exposing the slender, toned skin. "The Princess' main concern was that her son wouldn't be disturbed in the line of succession."

"Lady Lyanna would never do that. Given the nature of House Targaryen and her love for Prince Rhaegar, she was prepared to make the best of the situation."

Eyes twinkling, Ellaria sipped her whiskey. Much more bearable in dribs and drabs, smokey taste actually quite welcome to the palate. "In love you say? The Prince works fast… It took a month before Princess Elia fell for him."

This confused the she-bear. "I haven't seen the Princess overly affectionate with the Crown Prince." _Nothing like Lya, though._ Dacey had stopped counting the times she walked into Lyanna's chambers to find she and the Prince sucking face. It was both heartwarming and slightly disturbing. "There seems to be… a tension."

"Ah, that." Ellaria shrugged. "His Grace the King… made Elia's life living hells. That was before he grew quiet and brooding, constantly sundering whatever attempts they made to get close and intimate. Prince Doran did the same, only before the marriage - the Princess loves Rhaegar, she's just afraid to admit it."

Quite deep, but Dacey understood. There were many northern families that were quite familiar in conduct, the Boltons obviously but others coming to mind. "They sometimes need a kind word… or a kick in the ass."

Lined with a light touch of paint, Ellaria's lips fluttered. Smirking at the comment. "Theirs is a close family, and one under siege by forces no one within this Keep can identify as of yet. Crown Prince Rhaegar, Queen Rhaella… my Lady and yours, they need a proper support system to give them the unvarnished truth. That is why I sought you out, size you up and such." She smirked at Dacey's raised eyebrow. "What? Surprised?"

To her credit, Dacey broke her tough facade to look a bit sheepish. "I just pegged you as someone more…" she tried to think of a word that wouldn't insult.

The Dornishwoman finished it for her. "Degenerate? Frivolous?" at Dacey's embarrassed blush, Ellaria laughed again. "Don't worry, I take it as a compliment, scandalizing those around me." It was a skill she partook in from her maturity in Hellholt.

"I would think that your position would preclude such behavior." Dacey liked joining Lyanna in unladylike pursuits, but in Winterfell and under the disguise of a Mystery Knight was not the same as actually in court. "Do you not worry about hurting the image of Princess Elia?"

"Well of course I don't flaunt it for all of court to see… what kind of idiot to you think I am? Reputation is one thing when it's merely rumors and discreet activities, that's why the highborn men keep their mistresses and lovers under wraps." Given the proclivities of most in court, they were not ones to judge. "I'm not all fucks and good times, though that's my appeal. Already spread my bounty to three of the Stark guards. They do know how to wield their second swords." Now it was the northerner's turn to cough and sputter - Ellaria had seen it before. "You're a maiden, aren't you?"

Cheeks flushed the ripe red of cherries. "I can't see how that's any of your concern."

"You are. If you weren't, the reaction would be far more muted." Suddenly shy, Dacey turned away, still blushing. "Oh, don't worry. It's nothing to be ashamed of… I just find such things incredibly constraining."

That particular moment, a blonde servant girl no older than Dacey entered. "Could I be of service, my Ladies?" Her eyes flickered between Ellaria and Dacey, suggestive and familiar for the former while appreciative and hopeful for the latter.

Ellaria shook her head. "Not for Lady Mormont here, at least not yet. As for me, come around tonight, Marcey." Leaning up, her hand swatted the girl's ass, coaxing a pleased giggle before she left. Grinning to herself - memories of enjoying this particular servant's… oral talents rather recent in her memory - her eyes once again settled on Dacey. Shock written on her face. "Oh come now. Surely you had your fun with your female companions on that iceberg island?"

The red flush was persistent for the she-bear. "I've… I've never."

Oh, this wouldn't do. "What is it with you northerners? I thought you'd be wild and uninhibited like your lands, but instead I get tough but prudish, no no no." She stood from her seat, taking Dacey's hands and pulling her up. "Come. Come over here to the balcony." They leaned over, side by side. Two stunning beauties in a thin Dornish gown and a light grey northern dress respectively. They both showed off their slender builds and killer curves, but one bared much to the elements while the other was far more modest. "Look, who do you see?"

Dacey peered into the courtyard, which wasn't busy but not empty either. "Guards on patrol… the washerwomen taking loads of laundry to the wells… what of it?"

"See that tall, hulking guard. At the front with a halberd? I let him and his wife into my bed two moons ago." She quickly pointed out another. "Those three? They fucked me in each of my holes at the same time… it was marvelous." This was quite fun. "Oh, those two women? One of them devoured my flower while I speared my fingers through…"

"Stop, please stop." Dacey would have to be bleeding if she had been any redder. "Why are you doing this?"

Throwing her arm around the northerner's shoulder, Dacey patted her hand comfortingly. "Don't be so prudish, Mormont. Our sexuality… its as divinely sanctioned as our eyes or our breathing. There is nothing more beautiful than making love, and I've had a lot of beauty since my maturity." Elaria lasciviously reached down to pinch her new companion's rear, causing Dacey to flinch. "Stop being so tense. We only have one life to live, why not make the most of it?"

Shaking her head, Dacey sighed "It's not like I… I want to do most of those things." A shudder coursed through her body at the very thought. "Gods, I want to lay down my barriers and give into my carnal desires, but… I think I could only trust doing such with the man I love."

Ellaria nodded. If there was one facet of society she could appreciate, it was romantic love. "I understand… now what would this kind of man be? Or do you have a particular man in mind?"

Gaze shifting back to the courtyard, Dacey suddenly came across Ser Arthur Dayne. His twin blades jostled in their scabbards as he briskly made his way towards Maegor's Holdfast. When his eyes looked at the balcony by chance, she looked away. Unable to meet his gaze.

None of this was lost on Ellaria. _Oh Dacey… my first impression was correct. You are interesting._ Her mind whirred at a mile per minute, lips curling up at the possibilities. _I do love a challenge._

* * *

"My Prince, our food stores had to be broken into,"Maester Marwyn explained, struggling to catch up with Rhaegar's large strides. A balding man with a crown of scraggly hair round the edge of his dome, the man was incredibly smart and worldly. Hence the Citadel sending him to Dragonstone. Both Rhaegar and Elia figured the stuffy Archmaesters just wanted to get rid of him. "We expected you and the Princess back over a moon ago, but the delays… I couldn't let the food spoil."

Turning, placing his shoulders on Marwyn's shoulders, Rhaegar looked at him earnestly. "My friend, I do not begrudge you for it. Just make sure the pantry is stocked with fresh food for when I arrive with my children and both my brides."

The Maester blinked. "Would a northerner appreciate the bounty of the seas?"

"When it's harvested by Lord Lucerys Velaryon fleets and prepared by the finest cooks in the Seven Kingdoms, then I would think so." Rhaegar laughed and cuffed Marwyn lightly on the arm. "See to it." With that, he made his way towards the stairs leading down to the grassy plains of his personal domain.

Rhaegar loved Dragonstone. Loved everything about it. Most didn't understand the appeal, given the foreboding look of the dark stone and sharp boxes and curves of the former outpost of the Valyrian Freehold turned keep for House Targaryen. It had nothing on the flowery beauty of Highgarden, the lush greenery of the Water Gardens, the sheer size of Harrenhal, or even the rugged beauty of Winterfell, but to him it felt like the part of him that he so missed. The Red Keep was Westeros, but Dragonstone harkened back to the time of the dragons, of his glorious ancestors that were so close to conquering the known world.

The Crown Prince craved such a closeness… he felt it in his blood. His bones. An inner calling to the dragons and dragonlords of old, much as it confused him. Rhaegar couldn't wait to share it with Lyanna - he was quite apprehensive about it. While he told himself that he had no reason to worry, part of Rhaegar did fear his beloved's rejection of Dragonstone.

_Hopefully her wedding gift will dampen such fears._

Dragonstone laid on a dormant volcano, liquid fire long having ceased spewing destruction. His Aunt Jenny often would make Rhaegar tremble as a child with tales of the wild Cannibal or Sheepstealer that lived in its thermal vents, both of them falling into fits of giggles when she pounced on him during the scariest parts. Now though, the greatest contribution of the volcano was the lush soil… fields of grass, the royal family's personal vineyard and garden… and a copse of sentinels, oaks, soldier pines, and chestnut trees that nestled on the far tip of the island.

Approaching, Rhaegar could already see crews of laborers at work. Digging at the direction of several surveyors - and two nobles. One short and squat, the other tall and thin. "My Lords, how goes the planning?"

Lord Tytos Blackwood of Raventree Hall - formerly squire to Ser Oswell and a friend to the crown - turned and bowed as his Prince arrived on scene. "Seems the place is a bit haphazard for a proper Godswood, but a few trees felled here and some planted there… it could work for your purposes, your Grace."

"You speak too much like a master mason, Blackwood," Howland Reed chuckled. Bruises from the Tourney long healed, though he still bore a wincing gait from the sparring session. As a northerner though, he shared the swagger of how Ned defeated Ser Arthur - and the respect gotten from the knights in the capitol from being on the winning side. "A godswood… it holds the very spirit of the Children of the Forest. The essence of the soul itself. You can't just plan it down to fine scribbles on paper."

Blackwood rolled his eyes. "Forgive me for wanting the Prince's experience to be perfect."

Laughing again, Howland looked at Rhaegar. "Proves my point."

"Enough." While the squabbling amused him, for Rhaegar there was something far more important than his amusement. "I brought you here because of your expertise… and discretion." In their long-running feud with the Brackens of Stone Hedge, House Blackwood had the craftiness melded into their blood - Lord Bloodraven being the best example. And Howland… he kept Lyanna's identity as the Knight of the Laughing Tree secret for the entire Tourney. "How soon can you get the sapling here?"

"It's on its way, your Grace," Howland bowed. "Received a raven from White Harbor just last night announcing the departure of the ship."

Sighing in relief, Rhaegar closed his eyes. Trying not to feel completely over his head. "Gods, this is all new to me. Please explain what we're supposed to do with this?"

Both men were truly here because they worshipped the Old Gods. Lord Blackwood for his connection to the crown and being in possession of the largest Godswood south of the Neck. Howland… Rhaegar could trust him, the Reeds were some of the most spiritual houses in the North, and he had access to the Weirwood saplings the Godswood would need. As such the crannogman cleared his throat. "You'll need a walk around it. Ironwood trees, that's good, a connection to the North."

"Queen Alysanne got them from Alaric Stark during her famous royal progress to the North. Planted the saplings and watched them grow." A piece of history long forgotten in all but Targaryen family lore. Rhaegar intended to jot them all down so that they would never be lost. "And the Weirwood, it goes in the middle?"

"Always. The heart tree and the carved face upon it is the most important part, your Grace," Blackwood explained.

Rhaegar regraded this. "I'm not sure how to ask, but why a Weirwood? What does the face represent? Is it some sort of icon or idol?"

Shaking his head, Howland reached out and took Rhaegar's hand. Gently placing the palm upon a sentinel pine. "The old gods, they are all around us. Both in the heavens above and the earth around us. The heart tree and it's face… they were carved by the ancient Children of the Forest and First Men connected to the gods through magic. Wargers, greenseers, all carving not an icon, but a means for the gods to truly see a person and hear their prayers." The crannogman's muddy-grey eyes bored into him. "That is why you must never lie in front of a heart tree. They are watching."

Fascinated, Rhaegar lamented not being taught even the simple religious beliefs of much of his people. Years of compromise with the Faith has left House Targaryen shackled to it. Abandoning any form of understanding of other faiths, let alone remembering the true beliefs of Old Valyria. It made Rhaegar empty, as of his heritage was torn from him… his family torn apart from their past as those like Baelor the Blessed, Princess Rhaena, and Queen Naerys abandoned their dragonblood for the shackles of their faith.

Thinking about the old gods… it felt as if Rhaegar was letting himself be unchained from those that despised him. "And the carvings? Who would do it on the sapling from Greywater Watch?"

Howland smiled. "Someone with the blood of the ancient magic would do… even Valyrian magic."

_Lyanna and I, carving together…_ Rhaegar couldn't wait to see the look on Lyanna's face. Gods, he was incomplete without her. "I know just the carving tool." It remained in the keep, a memento of Queen Rhaenys. The Crown Prince was saving it for a special occasion, and this certainly qualified. _Lyanna will love it… Elia…_ He had never done something this special for her, never truly made this a home for his first wife, the woman that had sacrificed so much for him. For their family, for how he was bringing in yet another bride into their union for whom his love was boundless. _The only time she's ever be happy here was when she took Rhaenys into Aegon's Gardens…_

_Aegon's Gardens…_ It would be a cheap substitute for the happiness Elia deserved, but it was at least a start. "Well… See to it, my Lords."

"Your Grace?" asked Blackwood, while Howland just looked at him with knowing eyes.

"I need to send a raven to the capitol. Excuse me." Just before he left, Rhaegar wordlessly rested his head against an Ironwood tree. Hoping to find more than just the whispers of his blood.

* * *

Squirming in Lyanna's arm, Prince Aegon Targaryen's cries nevertheless tapered off. Soothed by her gentle rocking and soft tune of the northern lullaby. Purple eyes glancing up at his soon to be second mother - not that Lyanna restricted her growing feelings till the wedding - it worked like a charm. Aegon stretched his arms in a toothless yawn. Utterly adorable as the she-wolf set the now dozing baby into his portable bassinet.

"Sleep tight, little dragon." Gods, she couldn't wait to feel her own blood - Rhaegar's blood - growing inside her.

"You are amazing with him." She turned to find Elia staring at her, small smile on her lips. "Even his nursemaids aren't as good at getting him to sleep."

A gentle laugh came from Queen Rhaella, sitting opposite both her gooddaughter and the empty chair of her future gooddaughter. The three women were gathered for a quiet morning together, a tradition that Rhaella had begun with Elia and that she gladly continued for her son's second bride. "The entire nursery staff loves Rhaenys and Aegon, but nothing can compare to a mother's touch. A mother's love." She leaned over, pouring a cup of piping hot liquid into three porcelain cups that a servant had laid out for them earlier. "Elia always had a magic touch with them, and it seems you have it too."

Lyanna blinked. "Even though I'm not their blood mother…"

The Queen waived her off. "Nonsense… Visenya wasn't Aenys' blood parent, yet she gave him the same loving comfort that she did the infant Maegor when Rhaenys died. Actually, it was her idea to hatch Quicksilver - saved the poor child's life."

"I thought Visenya and her sister-wife's brood were strained?" Elia asked. "Maegor and Aenys as adults certainly were." Much as she wanted to hug Lyanna tightly for being such an angel to her children, words sounding a lot like Doran were telling her to be cautious. To watch out for duplicity as he had said in a letter to her - the Starks seeking to supplant her blood in favor of theirs. She refused to believe it, but it was there nonetheless.

"Vicious lies by the Faith and the Citadel," Rhaella spat. While many Targaryen Queens since the Dance of Dragons had been quite pious in the Faith, Rhaella inherited the original skepticism towards the Starry Sept. "They were quite close. The family lore has Visenya being the one who proposed the Dragon's Wroth… she and Aegon were never the same, always sad. Always… incomplete." Both women listened with rapt attention, feeling honored at hearing the family lore of House Targaryen. "But enough of that." The Queen put on a brilliant smile. "Something happy…"

"What is this drink?" Lyanna sipped it, feeling a calm sensation at the delicious brew.

Elia cut in. "It's called tea, brewed originally in Mother Rhoyne but now a Dornish staple."

Lyanna nodded. "Delicious. We should ship this north." In agreement, Elia figured she could talk to Oberyn about it… if he didn't kill Rhaegar and Rickard first.

"Oh, my dear Lyanna," Rhaella gushed. "What was that song you sung to the little dragon?"

That was something happy. "Oh, it's an old northern lullaby. Tells the tale of a King Brandon Stark, killed defending his realm and mourned by his family and bannermen. We play it at funerals, but a softer version…" Her eyes glossed over with a half-serene, half-melancholic look. "My late mother, Lyarra Stark, always sung it to my brothers and I before bed…. I miss her so."

"My mother… I really don't remember her," Elia murmured, misty herself in spite of the attempted shift in the conversation. "She died when I was but a young girl."

As for Rhaella, her mother was known to all. "For all those that loved Queen Betha… it was the honor of a lifetime to be witness to her true love." Each having lost their mothers - and in all but Lyanna's case their fathers - it was an additional avenue of relation.

Eventually, they did manage to shift the conversation… this time to the Lords of the Small Council. "Honestly, things were better when Tywin was here," Rhaella confessed.

"He always had something up his ass," Elia said to a chuckle from Lyanna, "But he knew how to run the Realm. Connington is… competent and loyal, but he tends to be both bolder and, strangely, less imaginative. I think his Grace selected him to enforce loyalty above anything else."

"Makes sense, considering he cut public spending to the bone. The King's Tourney was the first major project in the last five years."

"Is there any coin left for spending on the Realm?" Lyanna inquired. "My father was forced to increase the land and harvest taxes three times during my lifetime - once I knew better I always assumed it was supposed to pay for the cost of the War of the Ninepenny Kings." While House Blackfyre had marshalled significant funds and resources in its heyday, Maelys Blackfyre was quite destitute, forced to rely on borrowed funds from his Essosi backers.

Rhaella scoffed. "My husband's treasury is filled to the brim - gold bullion, silver ingots, millions of coins, boxes filled with precious gems, even luxury goods. Our debts from that war were paid long ago, as was my father's debt to the Iron Bank, the Rogares of Lys, and House Hightower, all incurred in trying to hatch dragons after over a century without them." The Queen sighed, and neither Princess needed to inquire further. The Tragedy of Summerhall inspired tearful bards from Hellholt to Last Hearth.

"Only debt not paid," Elia mused, shifting the subject back from its tangent, "Is to Tywin Lannister. Five hundred thousand gold dragons… though…" She couldn't help but smirk. "That isn't caused by inability to pay on His Grace's part." Much as she hated the King, the Dornish dislike for the Westermen didn't evaporate due to the presence of a greater foe. "Lord Mace may be an oaf and a fool, but he's good at counting coin… only thing he is good at."

Lips pursed, Lyanna leaned forward. Hands clasped together. "If he's so good at counting, why isn't that coin being spent where it could do some good?" While Winterfell had an emergency stockpile of coin, the harsh climate of the North made every bit outside of it spent on either buying food or repairing infrastructure damaged by the frequent winter blizzards.

"His Grace… he hasn't spent more than a silver stag more than absolutely necessary." Rhaella sipped at her tea, neither Princess missing how the fingers curled round the cup trembled slightly. "And absolutely is very strictly defined. Treasury's only grown and grown, especially since Duskendale." Duskendale changed so many things - before, he had at least been somewhat bearable.

"Besides." She didn't used to be a cynic - Elia had dreams, hopes, romantic fantasies just as Lyanna did. But while the Northern Beauty's came true, the Dornish Princess found herself trapped in hells alongside her husband. They forged a bond under such circumstances, but no one could call it the same as what he had with Lyanna. Her heart still throbbed from the pain of it. "Even if the coin and bullion was released, you think his Grace would personally implement the payments? The Lords he delegates that to would just insist on funneling it through their own ideas of what constitutes a proper endeavor. Probably their own pockets."

Lyanna leaned back, thinking. "Has anyone asked the people?" Twin blinks. "The smallfolk, the merchants? The guilds? Anyone ask them for what they need? My father always does that in Winterfell, the gates always open to grievances and audiences from his subjects."

Both the Queen and the Princess have blank stares on their faces. "I… I was never allowed to socialize with the smallfolk," Rhaella confesses, eyes downcast. "My father was famous for it, but the septas that he had tutor me over my mother's objections… they always said it wasn't proper to socialize 'with rabble.' And Aerys, he doesn't like to leave the keep or his wheelhouse when traveling."

The she-wolf knew from prior conversations with Elia that she had similarly lived a cloistered life. Unable to interact with those not highborn or servants. "His Grace… he stopped hearing audiences years ago, after hearing Tywin was conducting them behind his back."

"Perhaps someone should change that?" Lyanna's mind was racing, ideas blooming same as with the moment that birthed the Knight of the Laughing Tree.

Noticing the she-wolf thinking deeply, Elia found it quite sweet until a shadow appeared in the doorway. Eyes wide, she immediately stood and curtseyed. "Your Grace." Rhaella and Lyanna turned their heads, and within a split second joined her.

Sour-faced, the King strode into his Queen's chambers. Ser Gerold and Prince Lewyn standing vigil. "Where is Viserys?" he demanded of Rhaella. "He's not in his chambers." Aerys was not in a good mood.

Rhaella steeled herself. "Forgive me for worrying you, your Grace, but he is enjoying his afternoon by playing with his niece."

"You would let my son around the Dornish smell? He'll turn into a mincing buggerer like all of them." While Prince Lewyn and Princess Elia were directly affected, it was Lyanna that opened her mouth to say something. Just slightly, immediately drawn back… but enough for the King to notice. "Something to say, Lady Lyanna?"

Eyes glancing at the floor in supplication, she shook her head. "No, your Grace."

He snorted. "That's what I thought. And don't think I haven't seen you playing with that half-breed. You will stop at once, lest she turns from a slut into an uncivilized barbarian." Almost turning to leave, he suddenly noticed Lyanna's dress. A modest cut from the Dornish Marches, just like Jenny used to wear...

Without warning he grabbed the warm pot of tea and dumped it all over Lyanna. The young Lady yelping in the sudden shock. "Get rid of that dress. My son won't have a whore for a Queen like this one," he gestured to Elia and stormed out. Footsteps thudding as he retreated through the hallway.

Immediately as silence returned, Rhaella moved to grab whatever cloth was in reach while Elia raced to Lyanna's side, drawing her in an embrace as the fierce she-wolf began sobbing. Unable to comprehend what had just happened. _He won't get you too, sister. I won't let him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, Aerys. Wow. Borrowed some from Ivan the Terrible of Russia... who kinda has a parallel to Aerys - strong ruler at first but who descended into madness by the end.
> 
> Looking at Lyanna, seems she wants to have an actual responsibility beyond the ceremonial function as Queen. Perhaps Daenerys will have a role model :D
> 
> Oberyn will be Oberyn...
> 
> Hope the Ellaria/Dacey moment was what y'all hoped.
> 
> Rhaegar is a great husband already :)
> 
> So... perhaps a certain blacksmith we all know may have been conceived...
> 
> Next up, Tywin arrives in KL.


	18. Working Women

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of stuff to get into this chapter :D
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

Eyes raking the image in the looking glass, Cersei shook her head. "No, I can't have this."

"Calm down, my lady," Melara Hetherspoon cautioned, placing a comforting hand on the blonde's arm. "You need not calm down, it's only your father."

Shaking off the hand, Cersei felt flustered. Sensing the errant strands out of place of her crown of braids, the tiny crease in her lime-green gown, the dark circles in her eyes… "That's right, it's my father! If I'm not the perfect Light of the West… I know he blames me for not seducing the Crown Prince, and now a Stark of all women..." With Jaime in the Kingsguard and Tyrion… being Tyrion, she was his last hope for securing the legacy Tywin Lannister built.

"Come now, my lady. I wouldn't speak ill of the same family whom the man you fancy is from."

Cheeks flushed red in embarrassment. "I told you that in confidence."

"Do you see anyone around?" The daughter of the Castillian of the Rock was pretty much the only person Cersei trusted aside from Jaime… more so than Jaime on many occasions. She knew plenty of things no one else did - including about Ned. "He's quite a catch. Clever, gentle, handsome… and defeating Arthur Dayne?" She whistled.

"A second son, Melara." Cersei closed her eyes, trying to not imagine the kiss...

"Being the goodbrother to Prince Rhaegar can't hurt."

"Father won't see it that way."

Her childhood friend rolled her eyes. "I think you aren't seeing it the right way, Cersei. You were raised to be Queen, but the Crown Prince doesn't want you. Expand your horizons."

Before she could snap back, there was a knock at the door. "My Lady, riders bearing your father's sigil are close." Trying but failing not to panic, Cersei smoothed back the loose strands of hair and raced out of her chambers.

Nestled in the shadow of the Red Keep and Dragonpit, the manse was personally selected by Jon Connington for House Lannister… as such, it was large and comfortable but in the Dornish style. Sandstone walls, fountains, palm trees… Anything to irritate the Lion of Casterly Rock, further proving Rhaegar's words.

_Perhaps he was right about the two of us..._

At the center of the assembled household, Cersei immediately curtsied as the line of horses came into view. Behind the fluttering lion banners was Tywin Lannister. Joined by several Westerlands lords, her jovial uncle Gerion, and… Tyrion. At the gruff nod of acknowledgment before their father dismounted his Crakehall-bred stallion, her eyes met the same sparkling green of their mother, Tyrion smiling and nodding at her. _Of course you're here._

Cersei curtsied again. "Father…"

The Lord of Casterly Rock's frown was as hard as his polished Westerlands plate was dazzling. "Shut it." Tywin's tone left no room for arguing. "You and your brother, the solar. Now."

"But Father…"

"Now." It was clear he was one bit of defiance away from bellowing - Cersei knew enough not to argue. Merely curtsying once more, she fell in alongside Tyrion to follow him into the guest manse.

"I'll be off to the tavern, brother," announced Gerion, always in the mood for laughter and drink. He was clearly where her disgusting brother got it from, but with the golden handsomeness to back it up. Not speaking, he shot his niece an apologetic look. _Sorry… and good luck._

As soon as the door to the lavish solar was closed did he let it out. "You had one job, daughter."

"Father, I spoke to the Crown Prince…"

"Oh, you spoke to the Crown Prince?" He chuckled. "Does that mean that the ravens were wrong? That you are marrying the Prince instead of Rickard Stark's brat?" Almost ready to throw something, Tywin's lips pursed tight. Calming himself. "Are they in love?"

That was an easy question to answer. "You weren't there at the tourney. One couldn't pry them apart with two elephants."

He groaned. "Of course they are." He ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Well, looks like our chance for you to be Queen has changed into me salvaging this family from disaster." Tyrion silent and trying to melt into the furniture, all Tywin's attention was on Cersei. "Is there anyone that did take this… development with Lyanna Stark badly?"

"I think Robert Barathon was quite insulted. He was Lyanna's betrothed before the King made his announcement."

"Hmmmm, that's a start." Tywin sighed. "Do nothing, say nothing. As of this point, we have no alliances." He muttered profanities. "Gods, if you had done what you were supposed to and had Jaime not joined the damn Kingsguard…" The grey lion continued mumbling as he made his exit. "...to be close to your bed... none of this would be happening."

The two siblings were the only ones left. "Well?" Cersei spat, not wanting to even look at the… thing that killed their mother. "Thinking you can make me look even prettier by reminding men of what ugly looks like."

Pressing his hand against his heart, Tyrion fake pitched back. "Thou hast wounded me." The Imp chuckled, making his way to a decanter of summerwine. "It's good to see you too, sister. If only Jaime hadn't donned the white so he could be here too… though I figure it's better than him donning the black."

Cersei shuddered at the thought. "Gods, must you be an insufferable little shit?" Just as her brother began filling his cup, she snatched the decanter from him, tapping off her own goblet.

He shrugged. "That's my skill. I'm witty, I drink, and I know things." Tapping his forehead, he finally was able to pour himself the alcohol. "Father is right, you know. About why Jaime joined the Kingsguard."

A scoff. "You know nothing, Tyrion."

"Ah, but I do…" Tyrion winced, look of sympathy not one Cersei wished to have from him. "I hadn't said anything before about… it. But you must know that I'm sorry about the…"

"Don't say it." Cersei shut her eyes tight, gripping the goblet so tightly that it almost snapped the crystal. "Just… don't."

Seemingly wishing to discard the advice, Tyrion thought better. "Alright…" They were silent for a moment, sipping their wine. "The capitol seems to agree with you."

She laughed, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Seems everywhere I go, they make it obvious that I'm not in favor of the King."

"That's more father's issue. I guess now you can believe me and Jaime, instead of pining over the Prince."

Tyrion always had the ability to stab right to the heart of the matter. "Well, you don't have to worry. I've long accepted it."

That drew a raised eyebrow. "I'm honestly shocked. No commissioning some blood maege to curse both the Starks and the Martells?" Cersei groaned, but unable to counter - that did sound like something she would have done. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear you found someone else to fancy…" He suddenly quieted.

"Don't… don't be ridiculous." Ever Cersei didn't believe she sounded convincing.

Almost choking on the wine, Tyrion stared at her with wide eyes. "Wait, you do fancy someone?! Oh… this is just perfect." He was grinning ear to ear, making Cersei want to punch him. "What lucky man has the Light of the West pining after him…"

The conversation was cut off when Cersei splashed him with her wine. "If you want to see Jaime, you'll need to get dressed." With that, she walked out.

Watching his sister leave, Tyrion shook his head. "Good luck, you poor, dumb bastard. Whomever you are." He raised the goblet sardonically. "You have your work cut out for you."

* * *

Ser Barristan Selmy had lived a long and interesting life as a knight of the Realm. Unhorsed Duncan the Tall in the King's Tourney. Slaying Maelys Blackfyre in single combat. Serving as a Kingsguard for decades. All such violence... and yet it was this that truly made him squeamish. "Shall I try and find the Lady Dacey, my Lady?"

"No need to bother her, Ser Barristan," Lyanna called out from the closet. "I have the two of you to help me."

While the giggling Princess Rhaenys was over the moon, Barristan fought a groan. Eying the many dresses, scarfs, and cloaks that were laid out on the bed as if they were rotten corpses. _They call me Barristan the Bold, and here I am having to judge dresses._ If it wasn't for it being the beloved Lady Lyanna, the knight would have considered just walking out.

Lyanna breezed out, lavender purple riding gown form-fitting above her waist but with a loose, puffy bodice. "Well?"

"You pretty, _muna_!" Rhaenys chirped. "Dwess match _kepa_ eyes! Isn't that wight, Bally?" She held up a dark grey tabby cat aptly named Balerion, cuddling it close. Lyanna watched with affection. She and Rhaenys were inseparable since Lyanna's arrival.

"Oh, my little sweetling." Lyanna lifted the Princess and blew raspberries on her stomach, causing her to laugh. Such happiness was treasure in the court of Aerys II Targaryen. "And you, Ser Barristan?"

Barristan's smile fell. "Um… You do look… my Lady…" At that moment - timed so perfectly as if he could hug her - Princess Elia Martell walked into the room. Behind her was Ser Jonothor Derry, not one of his most beloved people. "Your Grace."

She nodded at him, but her attention was fixed on Lyanna. "Sister, where is Aegon?"

Setting Rhaenys down, Lyanna gestured towards the nursery. "Changed his swaddling clothes and put him down for his nap." Since she had arrived and… bonded so well with the Princess and infant Prince, Lyanna had split childcare duties with Elia, both of them dedicated to a rather… hands on policy towards raising babes. It had actually been the Dornish Princess' idea, one that was causing both ladies to bond as well.

Relief was seen on Elia's face - a genuine gratitude. "Gods, thank you." Her worst fears about the northerner were thankfully absent. Lyanna rapidly becoming her closest friend, the sister she never had… one who was about to make a massive fashion mistake... "That dress doesn't work." The Dornish Princess clicked her tongue in disagreement.

"_Muna_ pwetty, _muna_." While it could tongue-tie most, Rhaenys understood her toddler speak.

Elia ruffled her hair. "Of course she is, my darling." Rhaenys wasn't lying - Lyanna was striking. A perfect balance of wild beauty and elegance. Had Elia been like Ellaria… The Princess turned her back and raced to the bed, hoping to hide her blush. "Dearest sister-wife, that dress is perfect but not without Rhaegar beside you, complimenting his Valyrian eyes."

Sighing, Lyanna placed a hand on her hip. "Well, what should I wear?"

Rifling through the gathered garments, something caught Elia's eye. "Here!" Grey fabric, styled with white trim and ice-blue stripes. "Same color as that of the winter roses of your crown… and of the North."

"Oooooh." Rhaenys jumped up and down, yanking Lyanna by her skirts towards her mother. "Muna, wear pwetty dress."

"Seems the Dornish approve," the she-wolf smirked. "Ser Barristan?"

_Damn…_ He thought he was out of it. "Um… I defer to Princess Elia's expertise."

Lyanna snorted. "Quick save." Eyeing the well stitched fabric once more, she nodded. "I like it… wait, his Grace?" Her expression had changed from joyful to worried… scared even. Practically trembling of another run in with King Aerys.

The Dornish Princess wanted to shove a dagger into the King's back for cowing the fierce Lyanna Stark. Words planned with Rhaegar the moment he returned. "He's locked in his own chambers, mulling over… something or other."

"Good…" The smile returned. "Mind helping me out, sister?"

Elia furrowed her brows. "Isn't Lady Mormont here?"

"Usually she would help me, but she's been spending plenty of time these days in Ellaria's chambers and chattering over gods' knows what." Lyanna shrugged, not knowing what to think.

The Dornish Princess had some thoughts about what Ellaria could be doing... Eyes flickering to Lyanna holding the dress, and then to the silk screen that separated the changing area from the rest of the northerner's chambers, that caused the same thoughts of what she could be doing... _Stop it, you're not Oberyn._

Luckily, as she had saved Barristan, Rhaenys saved her. "I's 'elp, _muna_."

"Well how can I say no to that offer?" With Rhaenys beaming - something that melted both their hearts, smile exactly like her father's - they ducked behind the screen. "Sister, do you know why I'm getting dressed in riding clothes?"

"Um… to go riding, I believe?" Sometimes it was unavoidable to pick up Ellaria's snark.

"Very funny." Lyanna rolled her eyes. "When Rhaegar gets back from Dragonstone…" _Gods, I miss him._ Even a day without his embrace was too much to bear. "I'm having my first Small Council meeting. I've been preparing with you and Lord Arryn every day for it."

Elia shrugged. "You shouldn't have to worry," she said in her alluring Dornish accent. "Mostly just the councillors squabbling over this and that, plus Mace Tyrell talks about how his sons or daughter would make wonderful spouses to the Targaryens… all very mundane."

"Mundane is how things are done in Westeros, sister." As Rhaenys helped her step out of the dress she was in, Lyanna felt no compunction speaking in front of the Kingsguards. She trusted Ser Barristan with her life, the old knight rapidly becoming a friend. Gods, she often teased Rhaegar with the secrets he told her. "And I've realized one reason why we aren't respected, being women."

"The fact that most of the councilors are either lovers of men or old fools married to demure shrews might have something to do with it."

Lyanna laughed. "Yes, but also that we merely give advice. None of us do anything, supervise something. Take on a project." She kissed Rhaenys on the forehead when the little girl assisted in tying the laces. "Queen Visenya ran the capitol. Alysanne went on royal progresses. My own mother personally handled winter preperations. That's what we need to do, and why I'm going into the city." Gently puffing up her hair, the outfit was completed. _I look good._ "And why you're coming with me."

It took a moment to register. "What?"

"You heard me, Elia." Breezing out, Lyanna did look like a northern princess. Utterly stunning - Elia understood quite well how Rhaegar would fall for this beauty, a little too well. "Trust me, it will work. My father has already arranged for us to meet with the City Watch, the main merchant guilds, and at the Sept of Baelor… plus why shouldn't the smallfolk meet their future Queens?"

While normally highborns and smallfolk could mingle in the Water Gardens, Elia's frail condition had precluded such. Learned and smart, such kept her largely secluded and nonworldly. Naturally, she was a bit nervous. "I… what if…" Lyanna's hypnotic grey eyes were very convincing. "Ser Barristan, your thoughts?"

Clearing his throat at his name, Barristand the Bold nodded. "Aye, I do think that is a good idea. Your counsel is valued by his Grace, and anything you can do to ease the burden upon him would be most appreciated… but a word of advice." He was sworn not to tell, even the Prince's loves, but it gave him insight. "Talk to the smallfolk, hear their concerns."

Lyanna beamed. "Of course." She turned to Elia. "You in?"

What else could she say. "Count on it." Lyanna's smile grew wider and she kissed her sister-wife on the cheek. The lips tingled as they left Elia's skin.

* * *

With a loud scrape, the whetstone almost sparked as it traveled across the edge of the castle-forged steel. Sharpening the blade to a proper level for combat… _a proper knight takes care of his weapons, and they take care of him._ Seated upon the bench at the edge of the gardens, Arthur Dayne reflected on the words from Prince Lewyn when the Sword of the Morning was but a squire - rhythmically sharpening his sword, such words had served him well over the years.

It was a lovely winter's day, spring almost on the horizon by the vagaries in the winds. Arthur enjoyed the moment to himself. Serene and quiet, even with his friend and charge on Dragonstone he appreciated the boredom. For a combat veteran, boredom was something to be greatly appreciated…

"Well, hello there Ser Arthur," came a sultry voice to his left. Calling for his attention.

Absentmindedly looking over his shoulder… Arthur quickly turned around. Blood rushing from his head to his groin. A kingsguard took his vows seriously… but no vows or training could prepare him for what he saw.

There was Dacey Mormont. Arthur had seen her constantly since the Tourney, admiring her wild beauty from afar with the appreciation only a chivalrous man could give an attractive woman. Now though, Dacey's slender form was sheathed in a skin-tight silk dress. Forest green and of a Dornish cut. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, something that made him shudder with desire.

_This must be the goddess of love and beauty…_

Trying to hide her trembling form, Dacey bit her lip. Confident lady of Bear Island suddenly subsumed with the lovestruck maiden that Arthur seemed to draw out of her. She fought to keep her cool "Mind if I sit here?" she asked.

All arthur could do is stare at the goddess slacked jawed, unable to speak.

Such a reaction boosted Dacey's confidence. "May I sit here?" she asked a bit louder.

Still speechless, all Arthur could do was motion for the lady of the North to sit with him. Hand absentmindedly brushing against his shoulder, he could feel a tingle spread.

Dacey felt a spark from her hand when it touched his shoulder. She looked around, trying to find anything to break the silence. Her eyes settled on the sword. "So... is that the famous Dawn?"

He was shaken out of his fog - a question the knight could actually answer. "No, castle-forged. House Dayne is not House Lannister, my Lady. We can't afford two special swords." Arthur chuckled, trying to compose himself. "Dawn is actually in my chambers." She pouted at that, which he found to be the most attractive thing. _Gods, who is this temptress?_

"Sorry to hear that." She sighed, stretching... pushing out her bust. Dacey found it all pretty obvious, but immediately could tell a life as a chaste knight had left Arthur was clueless with women. It worked like a charm, boosting her confidence. "I wished I could have seen you sparring that other day."

Arthur managed a smile. "Well, you can watch me practice and spar anytime you desire, Lady Dacey."

The way he said her name so… reverently, it nearly made Dacey swoon. "I would very much like that, Ser Arthur." Smiling, she stood. "I best bid farewell for now. The Lady Lyanna has a large household to manage. Till later." Emboldened, she leaned down and kissed his cheek. Walking away.

Hand reaching up to touch his cheek, Arthur released a breath he didn't know he had been holding. Gods… what a woman.

Turning a corner through the gardens, and then another corner, and then another and another, Dacey suddenly collapsed against an imported Dornish palm. Eyes closed and a hand to her chest, calming her racing heart. _Oh gods… I kissed Ser Arthur..._ Lips still tingling, she could feel her smallclothes drenched from just being near the breathtaking Dornish Knight.

"Well, well." Dacey looked up to see Ellaria standing there, smirk on her face. "Aside from this pathetic display, I could have sworn you were some kind of seductress. Imagine what would have happened had you played a random guardsman…"

"Shut it." Dacey smacked the Dornishwoman's hip. Pulling her hair out of the ponytail. "I can't believe I didn't lose it out there."

Chuckling, Ellaria took a seat beside her. Leaning back against the palm. "Don't feel bad about it… truthfully, it's clear that you're besotted with Ser Arthur." She sighed. "Love is beauty, to be treasured at all costs."

Dacey smirked at her new friend. "This is someone that took two washerwomen to bed just yesterday."

"I said I treasure love, not fuddy-duddy social constraints imposed by some old man in a septon's robes… or by some arbitrary oath of knighthood." Wrapping an arm around Dacey's shoulder, Ellaria pulled her into a friendly hug. "We've got his attention, and confirmed him besotted. Now…" She pulled back with a wicked grin. "Now it's time to make you so irresistible he won't be able to resist, vows or not."

Just the prospect of having the handsome Sword of the Morning in her bed, never to let her go, drove Dacey to utter lust and longing. "What do I have to do?" Grinning, Ellaria pulled her up and led her back into Maegor's Holdfast.

* * *

The Grand avenue of King's Landing was flooded with people. Men, women, and children alike raced to the fringes of the cobblestone streets, the balconies of homes and shops overlooking it. "Looks like news of the tourney spread quickly… and far." Lyanna waved at the crowd, many of the subjects of House Targaryen heaping upon them praise and adoration. Flowers fell upon the street to be crushed underfoot by their horses - Winter preened at the attention - or the guards of both House Stark and House Targaryen.

"They love you, Lyanna," said Elia. Initially reserved as she journeyed out of the Red Keep for once, the complete friendliness of the crowd were drawing her out of her shell. "A love story born during a mighty tourney."

Headed for the Great Sept of Baelor, the reluctance of the septons and Most Devout to support the polygamorous union didn't seem to extend to the populace. "Seven bless the Princesses!" a rather loud man shouted.

"Grace to the Mother and Maiden for you!"

"Gods save the Princess Elia!"

A smirk cast upon Lyanna's lips as she looked to her side at the now blushing Princess. "Seems they love both of us."

Elia felt a bit modest, and surprised. "I had no idea… my father and brother always kept me secluded for fear of my health."

"Your health will improve with a more active lifestyle, Elia, I promise. And I told you every ruler should keep connection with their subjects." Elia smiled back - given the circumstances, the gods were certainly kind upon the two Princesses. Married to the same man, but on the way to being the best of friends.

Out of the crowd raced a small child, no older than three or four by the looks of him. The child's approach was so sudden, Winter suddenly stopped. Snorting and shaking her neck, shoed feet stomping on the cobblestones. "Whoa, whoa…" Lyanna pulled back on the reins, guiding the normally gentle mare to a gradual halt.

"Your Grace, your Grace!" the boy jumped up and down. He had thin, brown hair in wild cowlicks that made him look absolutely precious.

"Dale! I told you not to run off." The boy's father scooped the child in his arms, tall with closely matted dark hair.

"I have a gift for the Princesses!" the boy… Dale piped just as the guards approached. Weapons drawn.

Ser Jonothor was in front, frown on his face while Barristan held back. "State your business, peasant." He began to draw his own blade, the man's turquoise eyes widening as he clutched the boy tightly.

"Put it away, Ser Jonothor." Scowling, he complied. Boots plopping atop the cobblestones, Lyanna walked towards the man and child. Stark colors and simple style framing her wild beauty as a halo, Lyanna Stark held the same aura as any Targaryen. "Greetings," she said to the man with a genuine smile. "I am Lyanna of House Stark."

Initially dumbfounded, the man set his child down and fell to his knees. "Your Grace… Davos Seaworth… of Flea Bottom at your service."

Having dismounted as well, Elia shared a look with her future sister-wife. Both finding his polite fealty quite charming. "You may rise, Davos Seaworth," Elia said in her exotic accent. "And who might this adorable child be?" The boy perked up as attention finally drew his way.

Back on his feet, a relieved smile formed on Davos' face. "This little scamp." He ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. "Is my eldest son, Dale. My wife has another at home, and we're expecting a third." From his adoring tone, it was clear he loved his family.

Smiling, Lyanna crouched on her one knee, coming face to face with Dale. "Well greetings, Dale. Where do you live?"

"Flea Bottom, your Grace," he said shyly, in awe of Lyanna's beauty. "Are you really from the North?"

_Oh, this boy is precious._ Beaming, Lyanna pointed to the direwolf pin on her dress. "See this? This direwolf is the sigil of House Stark. My blood used to be Kings in the North, but now we serve House Targaryen." Dale looked in complete awe. "And you said you had a gift for Princess Elia and myself?"

He nodded vigorously. Out of a threadbare pouch he pulled out a winter rose. Blue petals glistening in the sun. "Flower from the north for the Princess."

Lyanna took the Rose in hand, shocked at how perfect it was. "Thank you," she said, kissing his cheek and gently placing the flower in her hair. It matched her beauty. "I will treasure this always." The crown from the tourney was pressed and preserved, and so would this - one did not throw away such good luck.

Face having lit up, Dale hurried towards the still standing Elia. "For you, Princess." He handed her a bright red flower. "Dornish Apple."

Gasping, Elia knew it had to be a coincidence, but Dornish Apple was her most favorite flower. "You are the sweetest little thing," she cooed, leaning down to kiss his forehead while affixing it to her hair like Lyanna. Both Princesses looked absolutely radiant. "Where did you get these, my dear?"

Floating among the clouds after the two Royal beauties kissed him, Dale suddenly turned guarded. "Umm… I found them." He averted his eyes with guilt.

With Lyanna and Elia exchanging looks, Davos put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Dale… tell the truth," he said sternly.

Hanging his head, the little boy couldn't meet the gaze of the Princesses. "Malgren's flower stand." A tear fell down his cheek… "Sorry, your Graces, but Papa just bought a house with more than one room and we have no coin..." He trembled in fear…

Looking up at Davos, the man shrugged - embarrassed. "I'm a… sailor, your Grace. 'Ave a ship… times are hard."

"Don't cut mi' hand off, your Grace," Dale cried. "Just wanted to 'ive you the flowers…"

Unable for her heart not to clench, Lyanna hugged the boy to her. "Don't worry, Dale. You're not in trouble." She looked back at Elia, who nodded.

Stepping to her horse, Ser Jonothor interjected. "Your Grace, we shouldn't keep the schedule delayed…"

"It's fine, Ser Jonothor," the Dornish Princess waved off. "Where's my coinpurse?"

The Knight hesitated - Aerys was known for his stingy ways, barely spending the treasury on anything. "His Grace wouldn't take kindly to his gooddaughter spending coin on rabble…"

A glare came from Elia. "My coinpurse, Ser Jonothor."

"Here, your Grace." It was Barristan who complied, smiling softly. He kept it ready, having a feeling that the Princesses would act just like the Crown Prince on these jaunts.

Nodding at Barristan, Elia picked out two coins, handing one to Lyanna - who leaned before Dale with a smile. "Little one, here you go." She tucked a copper star into the boy's hand, who stared at her with wide eyes. "Sneak this on the florist's stand while he's not looking." She winked, causing Dale to giggle.

Elia pressed a silver stag to Davos. "Buy him a play-sword. He has the makings of a powerful knight."

Completely dumbfounded at their kindness, Davos bowed. "Your Graces honor me with such generosity… I shall not forget it."

Releasing Dale from her hug, watching the boy race to hug Elia with relish, Lyanna turned to Davos with a radiant laugh. "We're looking for someplace in the city that could use aid from the crown. Care to point us in the right direction?"

Davos pursed his lips. "My dear wife manages the orphanage… it has been overcrowded and undersupplied since the Blackfyre Rebellions started."

Imagining poor orphan children being neglected broke Lyanna's heart. "Then that is where we'll go." She remounted her horse. "Thank you Davos Seaworth, I shan't forget your kindness."

As they rode off with their guards, Davos hoisted his son atop his shoulders. "Will we see them again, poppa?" asked Dale.

The smuggler chuckled. "Stranger things have happened in mi'life, my boy."

* * *

"We can't say enough how pleasantly surprised that you've arrived here, your Grace."

Walking alongside the matron of the orphanage, Lyanna couldn't help but shake her head. Lips curled in a small smile. "I am merely a Lady of the North at this point, my Lady. I won't be a Princess till my wedding day." _A day only weeks from now._ It felt so surreal for Lyanna… a complete joy that still didn't seem real.

The matron waved her off. "Oh please, the way the children reacted to you and Princess Elia… you're a princess to them." If Davos and Dale were a pleasant surprise, Marya Seaworth was all of that and more. The daughter of a carpenter, she nevertheless was quite intelligent and well-mannered. A kindly smile and warm demeanor proving she was perfect for this profession. "I'm only glad you came when you did…"

"Another! Another!"

Both ladies' eyes were drawn to the cluster of children seated in the common room of the orphanage, all gathered in awe around a single chair in the middle. Seated upon it, legs crossed underneath her gold and orange dress of a conservative Dornish style - apparently there were such styles - Elia looked out affectionately among the children. "I'm sorry, lovelies," she said in her native lilt. "But I will have to go."

A chorus of sad groans and pleas left the children, all of different ages and even homelands. Most were Andal, but the cosmopolitan nature of King's Landing attracted denizens from the North, Dorne, the Free Cities - even some as far away as the Summer Isles. "But we want to hear more about Princess Nymeria!" begged a boy.

"Did she really cross the Narrow Sea?" another child asked, this one a tiny wisp of a girl, scrawny but with the piercing violet eyes of Lys.

Much as with Rhaenys', those eyes were trouble for Elia. She couldn't say no to them. "Alright, I'll finish where I was. About why Nymeria led the Rhoynish people from Essos to Dorne."

Perching herself on the entranceway, Lyanna couldn't help but listen in. Smiling at the happy, excited expression that Elia wore. _Rhaegar will be delighted._ She looked like there was life in her eyes for the first time the northerner had seen her, a true sense of purpose. Pure, unadulterated beauty… She blinked. Normally it was only Rhaegar that made her dazed that way.

Elia's words knocked Lyanna out of her strange reverie. "The great Princess Nymeria ruled the land of Ny Sar, the last great domain of the Rhoynish people… but they were under threat."

"No," the Lysene girl breathed.

"Was it the Ironborn?" another asked.

"Shut it, silly," said a rather martial boy. "It was the Dothraki scum!"

A chuckle left the Princess' lips. "No, my darlings, it was the dragons of Valyria." Over two dozen dumbfounded stares found her. "The Valyrians went to war to expand their domain, targeting Nymeria. She and her people fought bravely, but in the end were no match for the wroth of the dragonlords."

"Is that when the ten thousand ships sailed?"

Leaning down, Elia ruffled the girl's silver hair. "You are much too smart for your age, little one." She grinned at the attention. "And across the sea they went, finding refuge in Dorne where House Martell gave her a home and a husband… I wouldn't be sitting here today if Princess Nymeria didn't sail the Narrow Sea for Dorne."

An inquisitive child didn't let it go there. "But if the dragons made them leave… why are you married to the Prince?"

Eyes finding Lyanna, Elia recovered quickly. "There was war between them for centuries, but then Good King Daeron made peace. Marrying our houses together, saving thousands that could have died in war. Prince Rhaegar and I… we made sure that the peace would last."

A swarthy child, clearly of Dornish blood, raced to hug the Princess. "Thank you… you hero." Surprised for a moment, Elia quickly returned the hug… which soon turned frenzied as all the other children sought to get their fill of the future Queen. Both Lyanna and Marya erupted in merry laughter. There was nothing but happiness in this moment.

But once attention shifted to the state of the orphanage, such happiness turned sour. "Those children are living in filth," Elia hissed to Marya as soon as she disentangled herself from the group embrace. Both she and Lyanna had regaled them with tales of their homelands - spending double the time here than at the Great Sept or the City Watch barracks.

Marya sighed. "I know it's not ideal…"

"Not ideal? The building is barely functioning." Lyanna had seen ruins abandoned in wintertime that were in better condition. "Cracks in the walls, mortar falling apart… there are barely any logs for the hearths." The draft was intense… if it bothered her then gods only knew what the children were enduring. "Shouldn't the crown support the orphanage?"

"Aegon the unlikely did during his reign," Elia added.

"I remember that… my husband was just a child at the time, living here. That's where we met." When Davos spoke of her, it was with adoration - Marya looked the same when speaking of him. "But priorities change. Only funding we ever get is from a Northern bard." Behind, no one saw Barristan tense slightly. "He sings in the streets and gives us the proceeds."

_At least someone cares._ "That bard sounds like a real angel," Elia remarked.

"That's northerners for you," smiled Lyanna. "Tough, but we care." There were some exceptions, and not all named Bolton. "Where in seven hells would the coin go instead of here?"

Shrugging, Marya could only offer what she had heard about. "The Faith needs to be bribed, so the Sept is plated with gold leaf. The City Watch needs to be loyal, so they get an extra purse of silver stags to spend on wine and whores. The merchants have clout, so the wharves are doubled in size. Who is going to care about the orphans? At least, who that matters?" On Marya Seaworth, Lyanna could see the same look on smallfolk everywhere. One of futility, that any highborn would every pay them attention except to rob them blind or satiate his carnal desires.

Sharing a stare with Elia, it seemed that the Princesses had found their purpose for the Realm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna and Elia are setting up their tenure as Rhaegar's powerful Queens, and we got to meet young Davos and his family. More to come with them :D
> 
> So Tywin, Tyrion, and Gerion make their appearances. In this story the Maggie the Frog thing went far differently, so Melara lives. Hope y'all liked Tyrion and Cersei's relationship.
> 
> Poor Barristan. Reduced to a department store attendant XD
> 
> Next up, Oberyn makes his KL debut.


	19. Red Viper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Red Viper arrives, and Rhaegar and Elia make moves towards a proper marriage.
> 
> If you guys like Jon in Essos stories, check out A Jade Dragon by bykim0120. Awesome new fic!
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

Knife slicing through the soft flesh, Rhaegar smeared the piece of fish in goat's cheese and brought it to his mouth. "Mmm… delicious catch today."

Across from him in their private dining quarters, Elia nodded. "The fishermen wouldn't dare offend his Grace with subpar food." Too many… cautionary tales for them not to learn such lessons. "Where is Lyanna? Shouldn't she be here?"

"She wanted to be." Since falling into a rhythm with their marriage, Elia and Rhaegar had broken their fast together. Alone and unfiltered with each other. Such was the trust and respect between them. "But Egg has the winds and she's watching him over."

Elia smiled at the thought. "She loves our children."

"That she does." It was… almost fate, he thought. "Your brother shouldn't worry about her seeking to displace them from their birthright."

"He won't. Doran rivals Lord Tywin in protecting the family legacy." _He may have a slight point… if not about her, then about the Starks…_ Elia shook away the ridiculous thoughts. "I think you should worry about our family, husband."

Rhaegar blinked, confused. "What do you… ah." He lowered his head, both feeling a knife stabbing through his chest and the dragonblood boil in his veins. "My father…" When his mother told him of what happened to Lyanna… as a proper husband, all anger left him as he went to her, pulling his beloved into a hug. "He's doing it again."

"The difference being Lyanna has a proper support system. A family that cares for her, a love match that was allowed to blossom." She took a deep breath. "We need to protect her, Rhaegar, now that we are able to…" _Unlike with me._ Elia didn't blame Rhaegar, and wouldn't broach the subject. _If we look back, we are lost…_ An old Dornish proverb. "She is someone worth protecting… I'm happy she's here, Rhaegar. A breath of fresh air that we all need."

A smile crossed his face, thinking of his Lyanna. "She does make me happy." His mother had said he smiled more in the last moonturn than the entirety of his maturity prior.

Pang in her heart, Elia's voice dropped to a murmur. "Unlike me…" It was unbidden, but seeing Rhaegar so affectionate with the northern beauty stirred the dormant longing.

Rhaegar heard the soft words nonetheless. "What?" Seeing her withdraw into herself, he pressed it. "Tell me, Elia."

She sighed. "I'm glad she gives you the joy I could never give you."

"That's not true." It hurt Rhaegar for her to say that… knowing it had merit, though having nothing to do with her. "You've given me the greatest joys of my life."

"Leave our children out of it," she snapped, in spite of herself. Inhaling deeply, the Dornish Princess calmed herself. "I haven't alone brought you joy, Rhaegar. Our situation wasn't ideal and we got past that but… seeing you with her…" A tear fell from her eye in spite of herself. "Don't change your love for her, but why couldn't we ever…" She trailed off, hating herself for exposing he vulnerability yet again.

Wordlessly standing, he walked to his wife's side. Pulling her quiet yet surprised form up. Brushing away the tears with his thumb - staring at the beautiful olive-tanned face and dark eyes. Rhaegar remembered the moment in their bed, the peace they found in each other's arms.

_Love… it is of itself its own duty._

The kiss shocked Elia initially, but she quickly succumbed to her feelings. Finally allowed to be free.

Arrived to inform them of the small council meeting, and show off the giggling Prince Aegon, Lyanna gently backed out at seeing the lover's embrace. "Well, little one," she whispered to the baby. "Looks like our family is whole after all." She was all smiles as she walked down the hallway.

* * *

"This is unexpected," Lucerys Velaryon whispered, leaning over in his chair.

Flat expression on his lips, Jon Connington eyed the other members gathered in the Small Council chambers… cautiously. "A royal decree is a royal decree." He scratched the flame red hair framing the handsome face.

"But to call Lord Redwyne as well as myself?" The Master of Ships had finally returned from Braavos, the young Paxter Redwyne having handled matters in his absence. "In all my years serving his Grace, he never called a meeting of all of us."

"That's why I figured there was something important on the agenda… major reforms." His gaze settled on Rickard Stark, the Lord conversing with Lady Lyanna. Eyes narrowing. "Besides, his Grace doesn't involve himself in mundane issues of ruling. Rhaegar called this, and for the life of me the only thing I am sure of is that it involves our northern comrades."

Velaryon, loyal to King Aerys since the day he had been crowned, looked at him incredulously. "You mean the Prince didn't tell you the agenda?"

Connington grimaced, but shrugged. Happened more and more lately. His closest friend was being bewitched by the northerners, he knew it. "Can't be helped, but I am still Hand."

"For now." The Lord of Griffin's Roost had little response to that. Especially as the alpha wolf began chuckling at some japing story the future Princess waylaid to him. _Gods, first Elia and now Lyanna._

Once the doors opened, the small council stood. Connington looked forward to drowning his sorrows in his work - and yet, this wouldn't spare the pain. In strode the Crown Prince, the Princess Elia holding his arm. Her smile was one that could illuminate a moonless night as she relaid some story, while Rhaegar's laugh covered his face in a carefree joy Connington had never once seen. One that made him more attractive than ever… _When did they patch up?_

Leaving a sweet kiss on his lips - as if all their problems had evaporated - Elia moved to a seat directly beside her sister-wife as Rhaegar moved to Lyanna. "Dearest betrothed," he said just as affectionately.

His words caused a flutter in Lyanna's chest. "My Prince." Her sultry whisper was followed with a kiss of passion. Sparks shot out that rendered her breathless. Taking her seat as the others did, she glanced at Elia with a huge smile… one the Princess returned. One happy family.

One that felt to Connington like a shard of ice to the heart.

"Alright," Rhaegar remarked as he took a seat at the head of the table. "Shall we begin?"

"Your Grace," coughed the sputtering Pycelle. For those veteran to court, it was as if the Grand Maester was born a tired, perverted old man. "I must protest the inclusion of these…" He motioned to both Elia and Lyanna.

Brandon Stark, having accompanied his father, slammed his palms against the table. "Watch what you say about my sister."

"Brother," Rhaegar lifted a hand, causing the hotheaded Stark to draw back with a glower. "These… what, Grand Maester?" His anger was cooler, but no less powerful.

"You know your father has prohibited women from sitting on these councils."

"My father has entrusted me from these meetings, and I want my wife and future wife to sit in… so I suggest you shut it." Aside from further sputtering, the Maester complied. Both women looked upon their husband with awe, affection… and just the hint of lust. The blood of the dragon had its allure.

"Anyway, my Lord goodfather requested this session of the Small Council to detail a proposal of his regarding the system of justice." _And there it is._ Connington leaned forward, eyes on Rickard and ears perked. He had a feeling he wouldn't want to miss anything.

Clearing his throat, Rickard nodded. "Aye, but first I'd like to mention word I received from Lord Commander Qorgyle at Castle Black." Being the Wardens of the North, House Stark usually had the best relations with the Night's Watch. "Seems the wildlings are banding together."

"Pish," Connington said dismissively. "Wildlings never form together. They're barbarians."

"They're First Men, blood the same as I… only purer."

A chuckle. "My point exactly, Stark." There was a terse silence.

While Lyanna didn't take kindly to Connington's statement, she clearly wished to move on for her beloved's sake. "The histories tell of Wildlings banding together during times of great danger or sorrow… who are they following?"

"A Watch deserter, one Mance Rayder. Apparently Qorgyle found the Frostfangs and the Burned Men have already pledged to his banner, so to speak."

Rhaegar nodded. "Mace, did your forces take down that massive bandit brotherhood?"

Lord Tyrell blinked. "Yes, your Grace. Fifty prisoners set to hang."

"Take them and two granaries of wheat and ship them to Eastwatch. I'll empty the cells here and throw in five hundred swords and spears for the Watch."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Rickard replied. Beaming, Lyanna caressed his knee in thanks. _You'll be a wise, just King my love._ "On something closer to home, I have completed my review of the current system of the King's Justice and found it incredibly lacking."

_Ah, that's what this is about…_ "I'm not sure what Lord Stark has found lacking. All major crimes are adjudicated through three judges handpicked by myself. They are fair and efficient." Since Lord Mooton's senility and death, the King's Justice rested on his shoulders.

"The concern I have is related to consistency, not integrity. Various decisions by the judges do not match either rulings in previous cases before the King's Justice, but also fly in the face of local customs of the Seven Kingdoms. I believe we must develop a uniform body of law to dispense with the King's Justice, rooted in both precedent and local custom."

"Such is impossible. The records alone would be impossible to maintain." _The Starks will not take away my authority here._

But Rickard knew his background. "Archmaester Ebrose and an Acolyte of his by the name of Qyburn have created a system of paper and parchment making that render each far cheaper to produce. We can prepare the proper records, your Grace."

"I agree," Rhaegar said. "You may go about your changes, but slowly. I do not want a disruption in the King's Justice."

Connington couldn't believe what he was hearing. "My Prince, I argue against making such changes to tradition. In the chaotic atmosphere of the current times…"

"Chaotic atmosphere?" Rhaegar's violet eyes darkened. "Watch yourself, Lord Jon. I would think the Dornish would approve of more consideration for their local customs." Piping down, Connington realized he had lost this fight.

"My Lords," said Lyanna, interjecting. "There is a particular matter I wish to discuss."

"Go on, my Lady," Rhaegar replied, rather quickly after Lyanna spoke.

Smiling at him, Lyanna looked at Elia who nodded. _United front?_ "Princess Elia and I have made trips into the city under our official banner. Making a tour of the various institutions owned by the Crown and the Faith…"

"That is a breach of protocol," stated Lord Merrywether. "No Queen should debase themselves by meeting with dirty smallfolk."

"This journey among our people was necessary, my Lord," said Elia, voice biting. "If we hadn't done so, then the sorry state of our city's infrastructure would have continued to be ignored."

Lyanna nodded. "The Crown orphanage is dilapidated and relying on private alms to merely keep its wards fed and warm. And as you can smell, our city is filthy. There is little fresh water other than a smattering of wells."

"All cities suffer from such," Connington pointed out. Lannisport had the same noxious smell - though far from the level of King's Landing.

"White Harbor does not, largely due to the competent administration of Houses Manderly and Stark." Lyanna crossed her arms. "As such, I propose we seek coin from the treasury in order to not only conduct proper upkeep, but to also construct several aqueducts to bring in fresh water from the Kingswood and Storm Mountains."

Mace Tyrell looked at the two Princesses with his ruddy eyes, seeing their seriousness. "We don't have coin for such expenditures."

Elia narrowed her own eyes. "There's plenty of bullion in gold and silver - the crown mint hasn't issued new coin in a decade… the forges and molds can be fired up once more, Lord Tyrell."

As the Princess and soon to be Princess continued prattling with Mace Tyrell, Connington's gaze shifted to Rhaegar. His best friend, childhood companion, training strenuously in the yard and hunting in the Kingswood together. _The most beautiful man I've ever seen…_ In all honesty, the Hand of the King knew from the moment he laid eyes on the Crown Prince what his feelings were. Unrequited, but no less strong.

When he was simply brooding and quiet - even after the marriage to Elia - Connington could imagine even a secret fulfillment of his deepest desires. But now, Rhaegar stared at his betrothed with the same adoration that Connington saved for him. And even worse still, his gaze at his current wife had a hint of deep affection, more than the Hand had ever seen before. It felt like a knife to the heart.

But his eyes then fell on Lord Stark. Even as his daughter spoke, roping in even Pycelle into the discussion, the Lord of Winterfell only had eyes for Connington. Grey steel hard with… contempt. And Connington's blues only stared back, just as hard.

The entire meeting found itself interrupted as Captain Alliser Thorne of the Household Guard - a tough if enthusiastic professional soldier - entered the chambers. "Forgive me, my Lords, my Prince, Princesses." He bowed at Rhaegar and both ladies. "Prince Oberyn Martell is at the gates."

Face falling, Rhaegar looked at Elia. The Dornishwoman was equally guarded and worried. "Is he among them?"

Thorne shook his head. "No. A rather foul-mouthed bastard girl told me to… um… 'milk a snake's tit' when I demanded his whereabouts."

Rickard Stark hid a smirk, Lyanna giggling softly, while Brandon Stark didn't even bother to hide his amusement. _Barbarians._ The Crown Prince and Princess kept their composure. "Well, if I know my goodbrother, I know exactly where he'll be." Rhaegar sighed. "Thorne, prepare my horse."

"No." Violet eyes found Elia. "It's best if I do this alone."

"Anything problematic?" Lyanna asked.

Elia gave her a small smile. "Nothing I can't handle, but my brother… can surprise." Understatement of the week.

* * *

Cowl draped over her dark locks, Princess Elia wrinkled her nose at the pungent scent of perfume that filled the air. It practically seeped through her skin. "I don't like this, Princess," Ser Oswell said under his breath. As with her dark orange cloak and cowl, he wore the simple armor of a hedge knight. Blending into the crowds, while three gold dragons bought the silence of the proprietor. "Must we meet him here?"

"Red walls have ears, Ser Oswell," she whispered back, halting as a bare-chested whore passed them. Eyes undressing both newcomers with thinly-veiled lust. _Yes, his favorite type of place._ "Better to get this out of the way…" More lustful stares, though it would definitely have been greater had they known she was the Crown Princess. Best that they avoid the same crowds as before.

Oswell nodded. "Good point, your Grace."

While the main sanctum where the girls put themselves on display for the highborn clients, the innards of the brothel was far less garish. Ser Oswell wordlessly stood guard at the door while Elia entered. Immediately hearing female moans. She smirked. _Never change, brother._

Resting atop a large, circular bed were three nubile figures. Two engaged in a torrid embrace, while an equally nude whore flashed goo-goo eyes at a yet unseen entity. "Come back to bed, my Prince."

A throaty laugh responded, one Elia recognized instantly even after all these years. "I have a pressing engagement at the Red Keep, my lovelies. But I'll be back. Court… tends to be boring."

"I resent that," Elia finally made herself known, stepping into the well of the large room. Finding the - thankfully clothed - form of her beloved brother. "The Red Keep includes me, and I thought my brother found my company delightful."

The nude whores scrambled to fall on their knees, while Oberyn's eyes lit up with happiness. "You're dismissed," he said flatly. "Go." Picking up their clothes, skimpy that they were, soon the two of them were alone. "Elia…" Lighter-skinned than most salty Dornish - a trait he shared with Elia, while Doran was a shade swarthier - Oberyn's accent was a heavy lilt. "Couldn't even wait to see me, could you."

Crossing her arms, Elia looked him over. "Why am I not surprised to see you here, baby brother?"

"Ah," he leveled a finger at her, chuckling. "I am older than you by two years." He was clad in loose princely tunic and trousers, a gentle gold rather than the burnt orange Elia favored.

"If you acted older than five and ten, then perhaps I'd treat you such." She clicked her tongue. "What would mother say?"

Another laugh. "Given what she and father enjoyed, I doubt she would have any reason to complain." He made his way to a series of decanters, skipping the wine for a glass of Dornish apple juice. Merry in his wine, women - or men - and song, the Prince of Dorne was smart enough to imbibe his drink sparingly. "But if she was, she'd be proud I have clothes on this time." His resulting smile could light up the room.

Elia rolled her eyes, cringing. "I've lost count of the times I've seen your stones and stick, Oberyn."

Oberyn gave her a cheeky smirk. "One could think that after becoming a Targaryen, you'd lose your disapproval in that sort of thing," he said, flirtily.

Eyes narrowing, Elia ended up punching him hard in the shoulder. "Shut it." Rubbing his afflicted shoulder, Oberyn stared at her for what seemed like minutes before they suddenly laughed uproariously. Unable to keep it up, Elia threw her arms around him. "Oh, brother, I missed you."

"Even my roguish charm?" he asked.

"Especially that. Always did make me laugh." Their embrace was tight, close since their childhood in the Water Gardens - coincidentally, the only times she ever remembered fondly. "I couldn't wait to see you again. Why didn't you send word? I had to hear it from Lord Varys."

The Prince cocked an eyebrow. "Never trust a eunuch. I've found the ones I know to be very… bitter people. But alas, my lover of the voyage was needing to sail to the Driftmark before nightfall, so I had to burn out my energies somewhere." The carefree, sultry expression suddenly hardened. "Best I do that, lest I snap and kill that cunt of a husband of yours."

Sighing, Elia motioned to the bed. "Doran sent you, didn't he?" She kept her hands in her lap.

Oberyn slipped onto the bed beside her, crossing his arms. "I didn't need our brother's order to come here, sister. Not when you're being dishonored before my very eyes."

"You realize none of this is Rhaegar's fault?" Glancing over her shoulder on instinct, the Princess' voice lowered. "His Grace made the order for betrothal. And he refuses to set me aside."

"But does Rhaegar desire this marriage to the Stark girl?" Elia didn't answer. Eyes falling to the ground. "That's what I thought."

"He's a good man, Oberyn. He deserves to have some happiness…"

He scoffed. "And you don't? What happens when the Starks convince him to set aside Rhaenys and Aegon in favor of his bastards from Lyanna?"

From her glare, that crossed the line for Elia. "The only person I've seen that cared for my children more than Lyanna is myself, Rhaegar, and the Queen."

"Might you think she's pulling some sort of mummery?" Oberyn was no stranger to such in his travels. "Fooling everyone?"

This did cross her mind in frantic nights of worry since Rhaegar told her of the King's decision, but seeing Lyanna holding Rhaenys - seeing how affectionate and loving the northerner was without any airs… "I don't think Lyanna would do such a thing, and I know Rhaegar would never dishonor me. Aegon never dishonored either of his sister-wives."

"That's not what the histories say."

"The histories are wrong."

There was silence, the only sound being their breathing. "Well, forgive me for wanting to see it for myself." Elia let out a breath she had been holding. It was a start.

* * *

"Authorization to mint one hundred thousand gold dragons?" Lyanna shook her head, eyebrows knit together in frustration. "This is a travesty."

Hand resting on the small of her back, Rhaegar rubbed her spine gently with his thumb. "Calm down, love." She looked just as breathtaking in the light blue gown of the south. Hopefully spring will bring warmer weather. Heat brought outfits with more skin. "That's five times the last allotment the small council has allowed in three years."

Lyanna looked at him incredulously. "One aqueduct alone would cost double that. Not to mention the repairs needed for the orphanage and public baths." Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan trailed several paces behind. "I'll be lucky to simply build half of one."

"You've put a lot of thought into this, Lya."

"Wouldn't you?" She looked up at him, looking forward to simply relax with her beloved. "I'm going to be your Queen, and you trust me to be unchained…" Her eyes sparkled with love. "I have to prove that I can repay your trust in me."

Without saying a word, Rhaegar leaned in and kissed her. It was sweet, short but pouring with affection and appreciation. "I love you."

Her smile was wide. "I love you too." She pursed her lips. "I don't think Connington approves of me."

"He's in a power play with your father, I believe. I'll try and smooth it over, give him some additional authority in other places."

She nodded as they turned the corner into their solar. "Good… and perhaps after mine and Elia's projects are underway I can convince Lord Tyrell to…"

Her words were cut off by a sudden scream… one that erupted from her own throat as a sharp kick sent Rhaegar slamming back-first into the wall. Sharp bronze spearpoint leveled right at his neck. "Greetings, goodbrother," said a tall, fit man with olive skin and a seductive Dornish accent. "Didn't think I'd come after you, huh?"

"Oberyn!" Having sprang up from the couch, Elia looked like she was going to explode with rage. "What the fuck is wrong with you?! Let my husband go!" All around, the four Kingsguards had drawn their weapons.

"Can't do that, sister." Oberyn turned, cocking a quirky look right at the Crown Prince. "Not until Rhaegar realizes how displeased I am in his conduct towards you."

Gulping… Rhaegar almost felt the spearpoint pressed close to his neck. "Goodbrother… It's not what you… ulg… think."

"Put down the spear, Prince Oberyn," Arthur demanded, twirling his two swords and readying an attack. "Don't make me kill you."

Oberyn was less than amused. "Oh fuck off with that heroic shit, Arthur. I just wanna talk to him." He knew the Sword of the Morning wouldn't attack his childhood companion. "You really don't want to know what I think, Rhaegar. You really don't…"

Suddenly, another gasp left Elia when the Dornishman felt cold steel pressing against his own neck. "I suggest you obey Ser Arthur." The new voice was that of the Lady Lyanna, grip tight over the dagger ready to cut Oberyn's throat. "House Bolton isn't the only northern house whos blades are sharp."

Trying not to move too much, Oberyn swiveled his eyes to look upon the woman threatening him. "Is that my knife?"

"Was actually quite easy to remove from your belt," Lyanna responded flatly, voice hard.

He looked back at Rhaegar. "Is this your new bride?"

Pursing his lips, Rhaegar nodded the best he could. "Aye, this is Lyanna Stark."

There were a few seconds of silence before Oberyn grinned. "Oh, I like her. She has spunk." Spear retracted back to his side, the solar was soon filled with the scraping of steel against scabbards. "First person to get the jump on me."

"The family has a talent for it," Rhaegar said, rubbing his neck. "Her brother Eddard defeated Ser Arthur in a spar."

Now this surprised Oberyn. "Don't jape me on that." It was as if two brothers were bantering at this point - Lyanna figured it was a Dornish thing… or a Targaryen thing. _Who am I kidding? My brothers act just like that._ "Arthur?" The kingsguard nodded, eyeing Oberyn suspiciously even though they were childhood friends. "Well shit, I better meet him." Quickly taking a seat, Oberyn crossed his legs and waited for things to settle. "One can ascertain why I am skeptical of this entire thing, correct?"

Elia placed a hand on his knee. "Brother… I…"

"Doran made me swear to ask you about Aegon and Rhaenys. They better still hold their superior place in the succession, though he's more worried about it than myself."

Rhaegar could answer that easily. "Lyanna and I have spoken about it, and she doesn't wish to contest that." The two of them joined hands, while Lyanna's kind eyes found Elia's. None of which escaped Oberyn's notice. "She loves those children."

"Hmmm… I find that hard to believe."

"Prince Oberyn." Lyanna's voice was kind, but firm. "Those precious children… it's hard not to love them. And I do, very much so… just like their father."

She seems genuine. "That goes into my major concern." Oberyn was not going to mince words here. Laying all the cyvasse pieces on the board, this would give him a feel for how he would conduct his more thorough observations later. "Dishonoring my sister. His Grace's idea or no…"

"He sleeps in her bed." Eyes found Lyanna, many wide with shock. But she didn't back down - honestly, it didn't bother her. Only Elia would she allow in such a position, and while any other would stoke jealousy and anger, imagining the olive-skinned beauty in… Lyanna hid her blush. "My betrothed has shared a bed with his current wife ever since arriving in King's Landing, with my encouragement."

Pursing his lips, Oberyn looked at either royal, looking for a tell. Then at Arthur. "This true?"

Arthur nodded. "Every night, Oberyn. I wouldn't lie."

"No you wouldn't… yet…"

"There is no yet, brother." It was Elia that spoke now. "I know you worry for me, but considering your habits you can't come out with the default conclusion that this is dishonoring of me."

At that moment, the click of wooden soled sandals upon the stone floor filled the room as Ellaria entered. "Your Grace." He curtseyed to the three royals. "The cooks have said that the feast shall be prepared by the time the sun sets, and whether you wish that Princess Rhaenys and Prince Viserys dine with…" She fell mute at seeing the newcomer.

Oberyn quirked an eyebrow. Raking over the new arrival from her hair to her ankles. "Sister, who is this?"

_Of course this happens._ An amused glint in Lyanna's eyes, Elia sighed. "This is Ellaria Sand, my Lady in Waiting."

"Oh, so you're the famous Ellaria Sand?" Standing, Oberyn approached the now quiet woman. For once, she said nothing - seemingly starstruck. "Lord Uller's daughter?"

Her lip quivered, rendered nearly mute as the handsome Dornish Prince rapidly approached. "Uh… yes, my Prince," she croaked. Despite herself, Elia bit back a laugh. It was just so precious. "And you are Prince Oberyn?"

He chuckled. "Your arrow has pierced true." Oberyn was now only inches away from her sultry form in the dark red wrap of a dress, slitted to expose her midriff in a sort of diamond shape. "I could tell you were of Hellholt - you look like your father… only far prettier."

Ellaria giggled… giggled! "No one would call my father pretty, so perhaps you speak correctly."

Nodding, Oberyn's eyes sparkled before turning to his sister. "Well, this about covers everything. I won't kill you, Rhaegar… for now at least. Just don't do anything foolish."

"Wouldn't dream of it, goodbrother," Rhaegar replied, not bothering to turn around. He would rather not see Oberyn wantonly eye-fucking the equally wanton Ellaria.

"And it was wonderful to meet you, Lady Lyanna," he bowed, drawing a smile from her. "Sister, would you mind if I dropped in on my niece and nephew."

Elia saw nothing wrong with that. "Certainly." Her lips curved into a tiny smirk. "Ellaria can escort you."

"I can…?" she almost yipped, only to compose herself. "Yes, I can. And the cooks…"

"Tell them to set a plate for both my daughter and brother," Rhaegar saved her further words at a shockingly high pitch.

Oberyn offered his hand. "Lead the way, my dear." She slowly looped her arm in his, letting herself guide the Prince to the nursery wing.

Suddenly, Rhaegar let out a laugh once they were gone. "He finally met his match."

"More like she met hers," Lyanna countered, laughing as well. "Was that how I looked when we met?"

"You were worse than that." He grinned even when she smacked him with a cushion.

Letting out a breath she didn't even know she was holding, Elia felt relieved. "That went far better than I thought it would… though Oberyn would be the most likely to support this. Doran… he'll need more assurances on the succession issue just to stay quiet."

"I don't intend on depriving Aegon of his birthright," Lyanna said firmly. "I said it before and I'll shout it from the Sept of Baelor if I have to."

"Optics, Lyanna, optics." The fatigue of the day was getting to her. "This can all be discussed later. Perhaps the Prince would like to escort us to dinner."

Rhaegar smiled. "It's still an hour or so till sundown."

"The gardens then," Lyanna said. "I'd love to see the winter roses in bloom." Both beautiful women looking at him, how could he say no?

* * *

Having witnessed much in his young but eventful life, Lord Varys didn't bat an eye at the haggard appearance of the King of the Seven Kingdoms. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, wild glint in his eyes. Ready to hear the words of his Master of Whisperers. "What have you to say, Lord Varys."

Bowing low, the eunuch didn't flinch at the King's condition. He was too valuable to worry, and too smart to put himself in trouble. "Interesting whispers from my birds, your Grace."

"Well? Plots? Another Faith Militant Rebellion? Some Blackfyre brat we missed?" It heartened Varys for how his King understood what threats could materialize. "Those prelude the Doom, you know." _Then again, maybe not._

"Nothing that serious, sire. Just… Mace Tyrell has authorized a minting of one hundred thousand gold dragons." He was careful on what information he disclosed. _Any man would notice an entire cyvasse piece hidden in the folds of one's robe, but one or two pieces could disappear undetected._

Confusion in the King's glittering eyes. "What? I never authorized this?"

"His Grace, the Crown Prince made the authorization."

"Oh." Aerys scoffed. "Probably wants to pay for a bigger wedding. A hundred thousand dragons is nothing."

_Forgive me, my Prince._ "Such payment is for a project spearheaded by the two Princesses, Elia and Lyanna. They have been authorized to manage all expenditures of said coin."

Eyebrow raised, the King leaned in. "What are you talking about, eunuch? Those two are weak women." _I thought I squashed that bug a while ago._ Elia was beaten down and Lyanna was on her way there.

He had to gauge his words carefully. "Northerners are stubborn, your Grace. From what the birds sing, Elia is emerging once more as a favorite of your son, Prince Rhaegar growing closer to her once more."

"That little slut." Aerys slammed his fist on the arm of the throne. "I always knew my son was weak. Swayed by the pleasures of the flesh like his addled uncle."

Nodding, Varys said nothing. Hoping that this report wouldn't cause more pain. "The Lady Lyanna, your Grace. She seems desirous that the Prince get along with Princess Elia."

"Why? What's it to her?"

"My birds don't say that, but not only is she pushing them closer together, but also she is seeking a close relationship with Elia."

Aerys snorted. "Over my corpse does a Dornish slut or a glorified Wildling get control over my domain - Daeron II and my own weak father let their bitches walk all over them and look what happened." Even in his increasing madness, Aerys was proud of how he culled Elia Martell's seductive control over his son before it even happened. Now Lyanna Stark threatened to ruin it. "This is Tywin's doing, I just know it!"

"Lord Tywin has not left the guest manse since he arrived, your Grace."

"That…" Stark… Stark… the same First Man blood as Jenny had… _Ah fuck._ Aerys' fists tightened, sharp nails cutting his skin. "I should have been more fucking cautious, and look where this balderdash gets me." It was already too late to pull anything before the wedding. "If Tywin sees anything, he'll just swoop in with his maeges and fuck with me."

Varys blinked. "Your Grace, the maeges and mystics are in your employ as you instructed me…"

"Get out. I need to think." Varys complied, leaving the King alone with his jumbled thoughts. _That northern barbarian will learn her place._ Rhaegar was his son. _His._

_I won't let Jenny get him from beyond the grave…_

_"Ghost of High Heart… Champion will ride…"_

A cold sweat formed on his forehead. Could the Stark bitch be… No, impossible. Even Jenny couldn't turn a woman into a powerful knight… Head throbbing, Aerys rose. Disappearing back into his sanctum to let his eggs calm him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone knows that Oberyn would do something like that XD
> 
> I get people would think Elia and Rhaegar are moving a bit fast, but they are married and were very close and caring for each other before Lyanna came in. It makes sense to jump into a sort of honeymoon phase, especially when they have been secretly wanting to for years. Still gonna be a slow burn.
> 
> Connington... he must know Rhaegar won't return his feelings, but seeing him happy with his brides is still painful.
> 
> Aerys is still a jerk.
> 
> Next up, Ned and Cersei meet again.


	20. Ladies in Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter yet.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

"You actually kissed Ser Arthur?" It was deja vu with the last morning of the King's Tourney… though the roles were reversed this time. Now, it was Lyanna that was styling Dacey's hair into a series of complex plaits around a slender ponytail - the latter on her insistence. "Last time I saw you speak, you were close to hysterics."

Dacey groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I don't know what to say..." Nevertheless, the smile was unavoidable. "But I did kiss him." She giggled. "He was just as flustered as I, and Ellaria says I should go for the kill tonight."

She was certainly dressed to impress. A northern gown of forest green, decorated with blue and white lines. It fit her lithe form perfectly. "What do you exactly want with him, Dacey?" Lyanna asked, finishing up the last plait.

"What you have with Rhaegar," she replied quietly.

Mouth open slightly, Lyanna regarded her Lady in Waiting with new eyes. "Wow… well…" The Mormont warrior was… a great fit for the Sword of the Morning. "Go for it, though perhaps you should wait to go for the kill till we're on Dragonstone. More privacy." Dacey smiled at her, grateful for the advice.

A knock on the door drew their attention. "Everyone chaste?"

Lyanna rolled her eyes. "No Ned, I'm locked in a torrid embrace with Rhaegar as we speak." Her brother entered with a small smirk, tut-tutting his finger at her. But he stilled as soon as he caught her outfit. "Gods… you look beautiful, sister."

Honestly, Lyanna knew that. It had been Rhaella's idea, and the royal seamstresses had done an excellent job. The gown was of a mix of silk, collar high and easing down to a tight black bodice inlaid with rubies and onyx. Skirt red with black lines, the crimson was topped off with an ornate three-headed dragon right underneath her breasts, framed with cloth of gold. Lyanna looked like the Targaryen Princess she would soon be - the only hint of her birth house being a crown of Winter Roses atop her braided hair.

"Well, that's my cue to leave." Dacey stood. "Take care of her, Ned."

The door closed behind her, leaving the siblings alone. "Not that I'm not glad to see you brother, but I thought Elia would escort me down?"

"I just wished to speak with you, sister." They were a study in contrasts, Ned dressed in a grey gambeson and breeches. All simple yet dashing, hair tied back into an attractive bun. Even with the male beauty of the south, Lyanna knew he'd turn heads tonight. "We've both been too busy lately."

"That we have. Fire away."

Ned cleared his throat. "Who else knows… about you being the Mystery Knight?"

Lyanna's good mood turned ashen. "Where… where would you get such an idea?"

"Howland. When I confronted Robert."

Cursing under her breath, the future Queen folded her arms over the dragon sigil. "Are you going to berate me about being stupid? That I shouldn't have done it… because I don't regret it. That joust gave me my Rhaegar…"

"Lya, I'm proud of you." He smiled as her eyes widened. "I just am worried… Lord Arryn warned me about tonight. That the worst of the worst would show up, and if this secret gets out…"

She shook her head. "Besides you and I, no one but Howland, Dacey, Rhaegar, and Arthur know. I swear."

Ned let out a relieved breath. "We need to keep it that way.

"Brandon?" Wandering along the hallways, aquamarine gown emblazoned with the white lace trout of House Tully, Catelyn heard the voices through the tiny crack in the door. "Brandon, dear?" She leaned in only to find it was Eddard. _Maybe Brandon is already waiting outside the ballroom…_

"I'll have to admit, Lya. It was beautiful seeing you knock that asshole Ser Frey on his ass." Catelyn stilled, unable not to be intrigued as to what her future goodbrother was saying. "I had no idea you could joust." _Joust?_

"Oh brother, you know well enough that I can ride. What makes you think I couldn't joust too?" A throaty laugh followed, leaving no doubt that the second voice was Lyanna Stark, her goodsister. "In all honesty, the hardest part was when Dacey and Howland procured that armor for me." _Armor… wait, she couldn't possibly be…_

Ned's laugh followed. "Did he paint the laughing weirwood?" Catelyn's jaw dropped. _Lyanna's the Knight of the Laughing Tree?_ She felt a tingle of glee course through her - the biggest piece of gossip in the Seven Kingdoms… and she was privy to it! "I know he did."

"Oh he did." Suddenly, Lyanna's tone shifted. "You can't tell anyone, brother. Rhaegar… he was ordered by the King to kill the Knight and bring him his head." Whatever glee Catelyn held was halted. _Killed by the King? But the Knight didn't do anything?_ Why would the King order such a thing?

"My lips are sealed, sister."

Leaning back, Catelyn pressed her palm to her lips. She couldn't share this, not in good conscience. Harming her own goodsister… _Family, Duty, Honor._ The daughter of Riverrun had a duty to protect her family… _But… it's just such juicy gossip…_ Her head spun with the magnitude of what she heard.

"Lady Catelyn?"

Turning around, Catelyn gasped softly and immediately curtseyed. "Princess Elia." Followed by her Lady in Waiting, the wife of the Crown Prince eyed her curiously. "I was just looking for my betrothed, Lord Brandon."

Elia raised an eyebrow. "I saw Brandon head for the ballroom. You can meet him there."

"Thank you, your Grace. It is much appreciated." Rising, she curtseyed once more before making her way to the ballroom. Eager to let her beloved calm the tempest in her system.

Still curious, noticing something off about Lady Catelyn, Elia glanced at Ellaria. "Is it just me or does she seem a bit suspicious."

Ellaria snorted, quite unladylike. "The Tullys irritate me - worst sort of holier-than-thou fuckstains. I bet she's been touching herself and then trying to find the Sept to beg for forgiveness." Her opinion of Catelyn Tully left no room for doubt. "Can't we get this over with, I really want to get to…"

"My brother?"

While a blush adorned her cheeks, Ellaria at least tried to look defiant. "And why not? He's a strong, virile man worthy of me."

Smirking, Elia giggled. "You're perfect for him, I have to say." Moving to face the door, Lyanna and Eddard had just opened it. "Lord Stark," she greeted before embracing Lyanna lightly. "Dearest sister."

Returning the embrace, Lyanna pulled back and looked over Elia appreciatively. "My my..." Aside from the dragon, all the colors on her sister-wife were reversed, sporting a crown of Dornish apple flowers. "Absolutely gorgeous."

Brown eyes also raked over the Targaryen colors. "I should say the same for you."

Behind, Ellaria snorted. They looked just like her when appreciating the female form. _As I said, catfight or feast. Too bad they are both clueless._

"My Prince."

Hearing Ned, both ladies came face to face with the most enchanting violet orbs. Darkening before their very eyes, their beloved Crown Prince dressed in the same red and black - outfit hugging every bit of thick muscle and trim waist. Hair free flowing about his shoulders. "Rhaegar," Lyanna husked.

"Husband," Elia husked as well, equally entranced. Ever since their moment in their dining chamber… she was breaking more walls she had erected every day. Unable not to lust for her husband.

"Rhaenys and Visenya reborn," Rhaegar murmured. Making them beam at him, while Ned rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Problem Ned?"

He glared back. "I'd prefer if you didn't lust after my sister in front of me." All three girls giggled at that, Lyanna lightly swatting him in the arm.

Rhaegar laughed. "Since I am the Prince, I shall not follow that command." Lyanna now swatted him, though harder. He laughed louder, holding out both of his arms. "Shall we, my beloveds?" Without hesitation, his ladies took the proffered limbs. Looping their hands in his. They would make a statement entering together, but for reasons both political and personal, all three were absolutely willing to do so.

* * *

The grand ballroom of the Red Keep had been constructed during the days of Viserys I - the heyday of Targaryen glory and peace prior to the Dance of the Dragons. Featuring prominently in _The Dragons Dance_, Lyanna had always imagined how magnificent it was when the heroes of her youth had graced it. Even under the neglect of Aerys II, reality didn't even begin to compare. High windows set inside pointed arches lining the entire chamber, glass chandeliers each holding dozens of oil candles personally lit by the many servants, and a floor of polished marble that could hold hundreds of guests. It was all she could ever have imagined, and with Rhaegar sidetracked with Brandon by Lord Yronwood and Lord Dayne, her escort had whittled down to her sister-wife.

"There's Leyton Hightower, I'm honestly surprised he made it," Elia pointed out a soft-looking man in a fine Reach doublet, speaking with Lord Tully. "Very well-connected to the Faith," she mused sardonically, causing Lyanna to snort. "Ah, and there's Lord Selwyn Tarth of Evenfall Hall." A fit, powerful knight, though Elia spoke of him as if there was some delicious gossip. "He made waves years ago," she leaned close to Lyanna, sprinkling with mirth. "Training his only daughter in swordsmanship."

Lyanna raised an eyebrow. "And that's a problem?"

Her sister-wife squeezed her shoulder. "Women learning how to fight, rare but not unheard of among highborns. But women being raised in front of her father's bannermen. Dressed in boy's clothing and trained as a knight? Scandalous."

"And his liege Lord is Robert." Both of them found the boisterous Stormlander belting out a bawdy song with a cluster of Lords and Knights, serving girl on his arm. "I doubt he'd think women knights should be tolerated."

"Honestly, I doubt that he's sober enough to care." Sharing a laugh, the two women found someone stumbling into their path. "And this is Tyrion Lannister - already famous by reputation."

Flagon of wine in hand, the four-and-ten half-man cocked a charming grin. "I wouldn't think I was the youngest to ever Make the Eight, but I'm honored the future Queen has heard of me."

"Make the Eight?" Lyanna asked.

Elia rolled her eyes. "It means having carnal knowledge with one woman in each of the seven…"

The she-wolf held up her hand. "No need to finish that." On any other man, it would sound piggish, but Lyanna couldn't help but admire the dwarf.

"I haven't actually done it, but I will." He peered up at her. "So this is Lyanna Stark. I can say, if you weren't betrothed to a man who could behead me with Aegon the Conqueror's sword, I would try and properly bed a Northern woman." He shrugged. "A sweet maid in White Harbor doesn't really count, does it?"

Sharing a look with Elia, both of them quite amused when most other highborn ladies would be insulted, Lyanna smirked. "I'm curious, how would you try to seduce a woman such as me? With gold, perhaps?"

"Cause the dwarf can only enjoy a woman if he has coin?" When both ladies were a bit shameful, Tyrion burst out laughing. "Most of my women are whores, so it's true." He rather enjoyed their cross looks. "Anyway, I'm so young so I'm already charming them when I go in with my best grin. Then I show off my lion-emblazoned tunic and then tell them the best dwarf jape I've ever heard. Disarms them."

"Oh really?" Elia crossed her arms. "I like to laugh, tell me your best."

Tyrion drank from the flagon, smacking his lips. "So I walk into a brothel with a honeycomb and a jackass. I ask the madame for a woman, for mine has left me, but they keep eyeing the honeycomb and a jackass. I tell her that my wife prayed to the Seven for three things that they granted her, in a manner of speaking." Both Princesses were engrossed, wondering where he was going with this. The first was for a house fit for a queen, so he gave her this damn honeycomb. The second prayer was that she have the nicest ass in all the land, so he gave her this damn donkey…" Lyanna couldn't help but chuckle at that - Elia was equally amused. "And the third… well... she asked that my cock hang down past my knee." He paused for effect.

Lyanna blinked. "And how does that involve you being a dwarf?"

"I used to be six foot three!" he blurts out, grinning. It took a moment but Lyanna and Elia - to his delight - nearly fell over themselves as laughter rocked their bodies. "Normally highborns don't like that joke. Kills among knights though."

"Trust me, that was rather perfect," the she-wolf said through giggles, hoping they weren't drawing looks. From the side, she noticed her brother waving her over… next to her betrothed, his eyes smoldering as they stared intensely. _Mmmmm…_ "It was lovely meeting you, Lord Tyrion, but we have to go."

Eyeing the group, Tyrion nodded. "Husband calls, eh? I understand." He reached up for their hands, pressing kisses to each of them. "I've never had a highborn tell me they enjoyed my company." And he waddled off to bury himself in the frivolity. Leaving two of the Realm's most powerful women with a positive impression of him.

To say Rhaegar's embrace was warm was underestimating it. "I do wish you'd stay close to me."

"You don't control us." Lyanna's mood countered her words.

"Allow me to rephrase, I would want you to want to stay close to me." Kissing both on the cheek, he lured Lyanna to his and Brandon's conversation. "You already have met Lord Tyrell, but allow me to introduce you to Lady Olenna Tyrell." Beside the finery of the Lord of Highgarden was an older woman. Face wrinkled and swathed all around, leaning on a cane and her green and gold dress sprinkled with decorations of roses.

"The Queen of Thorns in the flesh." It was clear from Elia's tone that the historical enmity between Dorne and the Reach hadn't completely died. "I haven't had the pleasure of meeting her either."

Olenna chuckled. "You do forgive me if I don't see myself welcome at Sunspear, Princess." Her green eyes were charming, but Lyanna could see the deviousness in them. This woman was not to be underestimated. "My my, I can see why the Prince is defying the Faith for you, Lady Lyanna. A handsome family, the Starks." Glancing over at Brandon, her thoughts on him were obvious. Lyanna chuckled while the heir to Winterfell hastily made his exit, mumbling excuses. "Forgive me, but I'm a widower and no one is ever to old to look."

Mace was equally mortified. "Mother…"

"Oh shut up, I'm having a conversation with my sovereigns." The rumors of who actually ruled the Reach looked to be true. "I admire the Starks, Lady Lyanna, the only First Men Kings to actually resist the Andals. Gods… 'Winter is Coming,' those are proper house words. Makes me shudder."

"Your words are rather charming, Lady Olenna," Lyanna offered graciously.

The Queen of Thorns didn't put on airs. "Pish. 'Growing Strong.' Set a rose on fire and it fucking dies. Set a winter storm on fire, and it's blown out. Count yourself lucky that Aegon the Conqueror got the North to bend the knee, my Prince."

Rhaegar laughed. "Oh, I do." An arm wrapped around Lyanna. "I'm also glad that Dorne bent the knee peacefully." His other wrapped around Elia.

"A lucky man, my Prince." Her wrinkles crinkled as she smiled. Someone then caught her attention. "Ah, Lord Redwyne! Mace, deal with him till I get over there." The Lord of Highgarden sighed and left. "A dreadful bore, but he's my goodson," she shrugged. "Do come to Highgarden on your next royal progress. I have an offer that you can't refuse." With that, she was off.

The Princesses leaned in to their beloved. "Well, that was interesting."

"Aye, interesting is the word to describe her." Elia's eyes narrowed. "I also don't trust her. I know Mace wishes his daughter to marry Viserys, but Olenna wants her for Aegon. I'd bet my last gold dragon on it."

Sighing, Rhaegar placed a kiss on Elia's forehead. "We will betroth Aegon to someone he approves of when he's ready to be married, I promise." Elia seemed to relax in his arms. "Now, I believe I owe my bride a dance."

While Lyanna wanted to jump at the chance, she would have rathered they dance first at their wedding. "No, I think you should take Elia." The Dornish Princess looked at her with wide eyes. As if asking if she was sure. "I'm sure, show the world that neither of your brides are strained, my love." Leaning in to kiss her, Rhaegar nodded and led Elia off, the Princess giving one last look at her - one of… gratitude? _Enjoy, sister._

Alone, for the first time that night without any hangers on or the presence of her family, Lyanna looked around. Her betrothed and sister-wife had the floor to themselves for now, dancing to a jaunty minuet. Soon, Prince Oberyn joined them… with Ellaria on his arm. The two looked the picture of affection. A quick glance to the right turned into a rather prolonged one as Ser Arthur, 'Ser Stuffy' himself, was laughing at a jape told by Dacey. The two of them rather cozy. Her father and… one brother, were speaking to the Queen, who was watched over by an obviously adoring Jaime Lannister. _Love is in the air, I suppose._ Even with Aerys, even with the culture shock, Lyanna knew this was where she belonged. With Rhaegar, Elia, Rhaella, Rhaenys, and Aegon. _And the other babes…_ She patted her stomach, hopefully a little dragonwolf would be growing there soon.

"Lady Lyanna I presume."

Turning, the she-wolf came face to face with a tall man. Broad shouldered and with thinning golden hair. He wore a doublet like Tyrion's, roaring lion emblazoned on the front. "Tywin Lannister." If anyone outside of the House Targaryen was known across the Realm, it was the Lord of Casterly Rock. She curtseyed shallowly. "A pleasure."

"Quite." In spite of his reputation, he was polite. "Would you honor me with a dance?"

Feeling it rude not to accept - and Aerys nowhere in sight - she nodded. "Lead the way."

While the minuet was rather spicy and fast-paced, once in his arms Tywin led slowly. "You seem to be acclimating well to court life." It appeared that he wanted to talk.

Lyanna wouldn't deny him, though she fought to keep her expressions in check. "It is difficult, yes, but I have a good support system."

"Ah yes, Princess Elia and Lord Jon Arryn, a fine duo." His moves were impeccable - the very epitome of a cultured Lord. But underneath was a caged lion… she would need to be careful. "They say Starks don't fare well in the south."

"Whomever said that didn't read about Theon the Hungry Wolf, or Cregan Stark… or Torrhen Stark for that matter."

"He lost his crown."

"Not a single drop of Northern blood was spilled… the same cannot be said of Loren the Last."

Expression giving away nothing, the tiny twinkle in his eyes found Tywin looking at Lyanna as if new. "You are right." They changed direction, Tywin spinning her around. "But the saying is out there. One true of all Starks since Cregan - quite confusing since the Blackfyre Rebellions drew nothing yet now your father is in the south. Strange, don't you think?"

Lyanna wasn't fazed. "Winter is coming, Lord Lannister. Best be prepared."

He blinked. "Ah yes, Winter is coming. Very true."

Elia felt lightheaded, as if her world was spinning… hells, she was literally spinning as her husband guided her along the dance floor. The red and black gown swishing over the stone floor - Rhaegar's hand spreading heat through her body with its place at her waist. Looking into his violet eyes, Elia could see the young Prince she had married, enamored with the Princess of Dorne and determined to make her fall in love with him. Only now, a stronger, wiser man. Gods, she felt her insides quiver in his arms. Bright smile infectious as the two laughed merrily.

Twirled around, she noticed the figure of the northern beauty that had so upended their lives for the better… i_s that Lord Tywin?_ "Husband… Lyanna…" Rhaegar peeked over her shoulder, then laughed. "That old cat can surprise me sometimes."

Leaning against the wall, watching the husbands or suiters guide their ladies along in the graceful southern minuet, Ned found himself envying his sister. _At least one Stark gets a lion._ He wasn't one to sulk, but sometimes it got the better of him.

Trying not to be noticed, even for the quiet wolf it didn't always work out that way. "Ah, if it isn't the 'Quiet Wolf.'" Dornish lilt heavy, sure enough Ned found the form of Oberyn Martell sidle up to him, arm wrapped around Ellaria. "They call you that here in the Red Keep, but I didn't know why till now." His longcoat of gold silk fit him like a glove, dotted with embroidered suns. "Your sister and brother are enjoying themselves, and yet you're here on your own." He pointed to Brandon, currently putting on a show for the partygoers with a giggling Catelyn Tully. The girl was clearly shy, but Brandon had a way of drawing people out of their shell. Oberyn had met the elder Stark son, and he was very fun - if disappointing since he didn't swing Oberyn's way. "Why don't you?"

Ned shrugged. "No lady that fancies me."

"Strapping young man like you. Goodbrother to the Crown Prince? The ladies should be flocking around you… or men" Oberyn wiggled his eyebrows, causing Ned to blush a bright red at the implication. "Don't get discouraged. I can tell if someone is that way just from looking."

Ellaria laughed. "A man after my own heart," patting his chest. Unlike the other men here, Oberyn's outfit showed off plenty of skin. "The Prince is right, you know. You'd have any woman you want if you softened that brooding scowl of yours." He didn't, just staring ahead. "Suit yourself."

But Oberyn wasn't deterred - he knew Ned's type well. "Hmmm, I think it's not that simple, my dear," he told Ellaria. "You may fancy a lady you don't think you can fancy." Catching a flicker in his eye, Oberyn followed the young wolf's line of sight until… "Oh." There she was, gossiping with a group of ladies from the Reach. He grinned, rather impressed. "The Light of the West, eh? Bold."

Hunching his shoulders, Ned tried to disappear into himself. "Don't tell anyone."

"My lips are sealed." He wrapped an arm around Ned. "You and I are going to be goodbrothers quite soon in a manner of speaking, so let me give you some advice. I wouldn't worry. Tywin is a hardass and obsessed with social climbing, but I think you'd have more of a chance than you think." Looking back at Cersei Lannister, the beautiful blonde quickly averted her gaze. She'd been staring at Ned. _Aye, far more of a chance._ "You'll be in her cunt before the week is out, write it down." That earned another flush of red from the quiet wolf and a sultry laugh from Ellaria.

The minstrels finished off the tune, pausing and immediately rewarded with a standing ovation. Breaking apart from Tywin, Lyanna added a northern war cry to the mix. "That was a dance… you know your way around the floor, Lord Lannister."

"It's an art you can never unlearn, only grow rust with," the lion responded, cracking his knuckles. "For what it's worth, I believe you'll be a good Queen." Somehow, Lyanna could tell he was sincere.

"Thank you, Lord Lannister…" she smiled slyly. "Though I believe you should keep that to yourself, considering where we are." Best the King didn't find out. _That is a scene I do not want to witness again._

A glint in his eye being the most humor Tywin would display, he then caught movement in the corner of his eye. Servants rushing towards the doors, others pouring wine and setting a fine slab of honey-braised boar on the royal table. That could only mean one thing… "Well, Lady Lyanna. I must bid our conversation to a close." He bowed to her, kissing Lyanna's hand. "It was a pleasure."

Brow rising, Lyanna nevertheless dipped slightly. "The pleasure was mine, Lord Tywin." Watching the lion of Casterly Rock disappear into the crowd of revelers, she was startled by Elia tapping on her shoulder. "A little warning next time."

"Sorry," her sister-wife replied before a pair of thick arms wrapped around her. She beamed, heat rising inside her. "Husband."

Rhaegar had made his way single-mindedly to each of his Princesses, far outpacing his mother and goodfather behind him. Pleased at Elia's reaction, it was joined by Lyanna lighting up at seeing him. "My dears," he said with affection.

Wanting to kiss him but not wanting to make a scene, both let their eyes show their passion - each settling for a single peck on his cheek. "We missed you, my love," Lyanna told him.

"Politics, a cursed business. I know I'd rather be with both of you." A gentle caress of the smalls of their backs made Lyanna sigh in pleasure and Elia shiver. "So I saw you dance with Lord Tywin, what was that about?"

"Lord Tywin?" Rhaella and Rickard finally caught up. "What did he want?" asked the Queen.

Elia chuckled. "I was just about to ask the same thing."

Rickard knit his brows. "Whatever it was, it wasn't good… no offense, Ser Jaime."

"None taken, Lord Stark," Jaime replied. "I love my father, but I serve House Targaryen."

Lyanna took a deep breath. "The dance was fine, he was polite, but… It was all… very strange and pedestrian. Just asking me the most random of things."

"I'm thinking he was trying to see if House Stark was adopting a hostile stance to House Lannister due to the betrothal."

A groan from Lord Stark. "Gods, I barely seek peaceful leverage… the South has no understanding of the Northern ways."

"They barely understand their own ways, sometimes," Elia remarked dismissively.

Nodding, the Queen gently pressed her fingers together, surreptitiously stretching her legs - she was not the prime of youth anymore… though ignorant of a certain admirer that did not care. "Power, coin, and a proper legacy, that's all Tywin really wants." Rhaella shrugged. "It's hard to read him. Even Joanna couldn't."

At Rhaegar's raised brow, Lyanna sighed. "He did ask a lot of questions about father. How he was reaching to the south for alliances. As well as his interactions with the King."

"So that's it, then." Rhaegar pinched the bridge of his nose, dropping to a low whisper. "Father and Tywin never got along, but now he thinks the Lannisters are plotting the Doom of Valyria."

"But that's…"

"Mad? Aye, it is." Eyes closing, the Crown Prince truly felt the weight of the Realm on his shoulders. "I'll try and deescalate matters with him after the wedding, once things calm down." On Dragonstone, away from his father's toxic court, things would be easier.

"Well, his leaving abruptly may indicate he does see me as a threat…" She trailed off as Elia shook her head. "So what do you think that means?"

"Simple, his Grace is arriving." They had little time to prepare before the heralds made their announcement.

* * *

"Make way for his Grace!" The song ended in mid tune, dancers and revelers ceasing their merriment and quickly backing up to either side of the room. Large doors opened to Ser Gerold, Ser Jonothor, and twenty fully-armored members of the Household Guard flanking the entrance as the King entered. "Presenting Aerys of House Targaryen, Second of his Name. King of the Seven Kingdoms!" The herald's words were loud and precise. Taking care to deliver the words without flaw for the benefit of the King. He was known to cut tongues of those who couldn't.

Bending the knee while his mother curtseyed, Rhaegar couldn't help but thank the gods that someone had cleaned up his father. The long, stringy hair was trimmed and styled, nails clipped, and a fresh set of red and black robes swathing his thin frame. He looked like an elderly, but regal King - looking so much like his own father Aegon V. "Your Grace," he offered as Aerys approached them at the head table.

"Your Grace." Rhaella took her husband's hand in hers and kissed it sweetly. Answered with a curt grunt. _Far better than he could have done._

Unfortunately, Rhaella's relief had been premature. Aerys' gaze had landed on the two Princesses, notably their dresses. The Queen said a silent prayer of grace to whomever was listening once she noticed the flash in her husband's eyes. One she knew very well. "What is this?" he spat. "Is this your doing, wife? Dressing the Dornish Whore and Wildling in our house colors?"

"We thought it would serve well for the unity of our house, your Grace," Elia answered. Both she and Rhaegar noticed with dismay at how Lyanna had drawn back, not willing to speak. _No, sister… no_. Just as she was about to climb out of it, the Princess saw her sister-wife fall for the same callow as she was forced to adopt years ago.

Aerys snorted in disgust. "Diluting the blood and culture as much as our cunt father and great-grandsire, then?"

Targaryens, Lord Stark, and Princesses eager to just take the abuse and let the King move on, unfortunately the arriving Brandon Stark opened his mouth. "Doesn't Princess Elia have Targaryen blood through Princess Daenerys Targaryen?" One could hear a pin drop, something dark flickering in Aerys eyes at the young Stark before a serene smile appeared. Leaving them with a mere nod before walking off.

As soon as the King sat down at the royal table seated for one, the Lords and Ladies rose from their knees. Beginning to shift and mingle once more. Rickard led Brandon off to lecture him, while Rhaella was escorted by Ser Jaime to converse with the Tyrells. As for the Prince and his brides, all three had to adorn the fake smiles of court as still more Lords and Ladies approached them with congratulations. "My Prince, my ladies." With a smile that looked quite out of place on a quite hardened face, a lord with the look of the Reach appeared in front of them. "Forgive me, Lady Lyanna, for we haven't met. Lord Randyll Tarly of Horn Hill."

_Dornish Marches in the Reach…_ tough warriors, enemies of the Dornish. Randyll Tarly sure looked the part - especially as his scowl was largely directed at Elia. "Pleased to meet you Lord Tarly," she told him. "Where is Lady Tarly?"

"She is at our keep. Just gave birth to my first child - a son and heir."

"Congratulations Lord Tarly," Rhaegar offered kindly. "As a father myself, that is a rather important moment in one's life."

Tarly's scowl turned even more sour… if that was possible. "Ah yes, Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys." His eyes swiveled to the dance floor, where all of them found Oberyn locked in a traditional Dornish dance with Ellaria Sand. "Hopefully they'll take after their father's side, then."

Rhaegar felt his ire rising, especially as Elia averted her gaze. Learned helplessness cowing her yet again. But before Rhaegar could respond, Lyanna cut in. "Why do you think that, Lord Tarly?"

"I've heard about the… perversion of the Martells, Lady Lyanna. Best to keep that away from the Crown. Aegon the Unworthy caused enough suffering with his whoring to repeat it."

Lyanna's eyes narrowed. "On the contrary, Lord Tarly, Princess Elia is as loving a parent as I would hope the heirs to the throne would have. Certainly she wouldn't abandon a babe just having left his mother's womb to ingratiate herself in social climbing, and since his two children are with him in King's Landing…" The she-wolf smirked. "Neither would Prince Oberyn."

Eyes flashing red for a split second, Lord Tarly realized who he was speaking to. "Your Graces," he mumbled, making his exit.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Rhaegar nearly bawled over in laughter. "Finally, someone pushes on that stave up his ass." He pressed a kiss to Lyanna's lips, then hugged Elia. "You're a wonderful mother, my love."

_My love…_ The words from him felt like the sweetest of hugs. "I know… speaking up doesn't always end well for me, though."

"The dragon has three heads, sister," Lyanna told her, remembering an old tale from Aegon's Conquest. "We look after each other."

Their conversation - as were all conversations - stilled as the King rose. His herald smacking the edge of his staff on the stone floor to grab attention. Aerys held a silver goblet in his hand, filled with Arbor gold. "My Lords and Ladies," he announced, voice even and free from even a hint of madness. It heartened the royal family and those on the Small Council. "The greatest thanks from House Targaryen to you, who have journeyed here to celebrate the resumption of the proper history of Valyria. My son, reasserting the Doctrine of Exceptionalism the way Kings Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Strong, marrying the beautiful Winter Rose Lady Lyanna Stark."

A chorus of claps, all eyes on Lyanna. It truly emphasized what an honor she was given, addressed before the Lords of Westeros by the King himself. She smiled and curtseyed at the King, hiding the worry. Masking how guarded she was at the obviously fake words. Her family shared the same thoughts, only wondering whether the King would speak in innuendo or be blunt.

As a smug smile fell on the King's lips, the intent was recognized immediately by the Queen, Princess, and Crown Prince, faces falling. "Interesting thing about House Stark. Their Lord, Rickard, is a fine and loyal man. Fulfilling his obligation under the Pact of Ice and Fire… unlike his ancestors." He snickered. "Had Cregan Stark not been a dawdling coward, Queen Rhaenyra may have won over the usurpers."

Rickard paled, Brandon snapped his goblet in half, and Ned's eyes widened. Knowing exactly what was to come, Elia took Lyanna's stunned hands in her own for support. Seemed no matter who it was, Aerys was determined to humilate and torture anyone that Rhaegar would love. "It's alright," she murmured to her sister-wife, noticing how Rhaegar couldn't even look at his father, hand on the small of Lyanna's back. "We look after each other."

"Honestly, the Starks have been the worst of all noble houses," the King continued. "Staying in their frozen land, not leaving even when the Kingdom was most at threat. Only when Queen Alysanne kissed their asses did they bother to show loyalty to House Targaryen, and I have it on good authority that Alaric Stark merely sought to have an affair with the Good Queen."

You lie! Ned wanted to shout it to the rafters. But he refused to be a fool… he'd been enough of a fool with Robert.

Across the floor of the grand chamber, Cersei Lannister saw the somber northerner duck out the side doorways to the balcony. Once selfish heart throbbing with empathy for him. But she couldn't follow him while the King continued.

"Unfortunately, I have had the displeasure of my son and heir disrespected and maligned by goodfamily." Aerys felt his spirit soar at the suppressed anger from Prince Oberyn, only wishing that he could see the pain on Princess Elia's face once again. "But House Stark has finally learned its place. With this marriage bringing our wayward brothers to the north into our fold, they can finally enjoy the trappings of civilization so long denied them." He held his goblet high. "To Rhaegar and Lyanna!"

Even for the humiliated Starks, there was no escaping the bittersweet toast. "To Rhaegar and Lyanna!"

Hammering a foot against the stone slabs of the main keep, it hurt like all seven hells but allowed Ned to vent his anger. It had become a habit for him since the tourney, still a brooder but enough self-loathing and torment to lash out alone or burn out on the training yard. Rhaegar loved Lyanna with all his heart, but he wasn't the jailer. Likely, he was a prisoner of his father just as Lyanna now was." Gritting his teeth, he kicked the stone once more.

Rushing out as fast as she could without drawing attention, this was how Cersei found him. The emotion on his face even more attractive than the brooding. She was silent, standing just outside the entranceway. Stilled by the close proximity to the young man that haunted her dreams. That she had kissed…

Finally, she spoke. "Lord Stark."

Tensing at the voice, Ned turned and felt the pain drain from his system. Taken over by the golden-haired lioness that has so captivated him. "Lady Cersei…" He straightened himself up. "Forgive me, but I just walked out to get some air. I can move if you wish your privacy." Even after being insulted, he just couldn't be anything but enamored with this woman.

Cersei held up a hand. "No… it's quite alright. Stay." She wanted him to stay. Heart soaring when he did. "For what it's worth, I have been on the end of his Grace's barbs too."

Unable not to chuckle - either that or cry - Ned leaned back on the wall. "Tywin's daughter, aye." He had barely spoken to her, but somehow it felt easy to. "It doesn't bother me, but I do worry for Lyanna."

"She has the Prince's love." Surprisingly, Cersei only felt a slight twinge of pain at admitting it. _Perhaps I've moved on…_ "I don't find that surprising. She is very beautiful… a trait that runs in your family, it seems." The easy praise was so foreign to her, but she wanted to say it. It was true, Ned Stark was very handsome. She could tell that he would grow to surpass his older brother in that regard.

Since Cersei's last words to him were calling him a 'Northern Bumpkin,' Ned wondered where she was going with this. "You are quite beautiful yourself, my Lady." The dress was a simple maroon, hugging her curves and bringing out the golden pleats of her hair.

"Well…" she blushed in spite of herself. "Thank you, my Lord." The way he still looked at her, as if she were a goddess... Cersei chewed her bottom lip, a habit picked up from her mother. "I'd like to apologize."

"Apologize for what?"

"For my rude words in our last meeting." Everyone she knew would be gaping at Cersei Lannister apologizing, but it seemed right.

Ned blinked, surprised himself. "Yes, that was... rather rude." He looked her over, not for the first time imagining her bare. As much as he would want to resume their kiss, his honor emerged. "But you were right, Lady Cersei. I am but a second son - we shouldn't be doing this."

"No... we shouldn't," she finally says, but her green eyes darken at him regardless. "We would have no future..."

In spite of himself, in spite of his words, Ned took a step towards her. "It wouldn't be honorable, for a courtship with no prospects." Closer he walked, an almost magnetic draw.

"It would be for the best" Her voice was rough with desire. Going straight to his groin.

_To hells with it._ How could something like honor compare to this golden enchantress? With a growl that could rival a direwolf, Ned lunged. Hand quickly wrapping around the smooth column of her neck as the northerner crashed his lips against Cersei's. Plunging into her mouth, desire spiking at the sultry moan of the lioness. A hand moved to cup her rear through the maroon fabric of her dress, guiding her to the wall.

Feeling the northerner push her back, Cersei couldn't be bothered to care. It was as sudden as their first kiss, but there the similarities ended the lioness roared with hunger. A sensual clash of teeth and tongue. Gone was the quiet, brooding Eddard Stark, replaced by a ravenous direwolf intent on making a meal out of her.

When their kiss broke as she hissed, back colliding with the wall behind her, she bared her graceful neck for him to feast on. "Please…" It came out as a gasp… changing to another moan when Ned's hand pushed down the strap of her dress and his lips found the creamy skin.

_Stop… visible… dishonor…_ Words of caution cast aside by the sounds and taste of her. Wolfsblood uncaged within him. Pinning her to the wall, Ned's hands began to wander. Ghosting over places that he only dreamed of feeling on any woman. Trim waist, ample breasts, a tight rear. Leaving her neck, the moment his gaze met her lidded greens did they kiss again.

Falling further into the Stark's embrace, Cersei wrapped her right leg around his hip. Both gasping as his clothed member hit her core over her smallclothes. _Am I letting him take my cunt?_ Ned's fingers touching the bare skin of her shoulder, Cersei moaned yet again. _Of course I am._

"Sweet sister." Tyrion stumbled onto the moonlit deck, wine sloshing from his goblet as his bloodshot eyes peered for Cersei. "Father is making his exit, and I believe he wants us to…" What he had once thought was some random couple suddenly came into view. Goblet falling to the floor as he sobered up almost immediately. "Sister?"

The last finally got her attention. Her arousal changing to horror as she pushed Ned off of her. Brows knitted in confusion, the northerner followed the line of sight to find the Imp wide eyed at them. "Fuck…" he heard Cersei murmur while he backed away.

Blinking, Tyrion figured after several seconds that he wasn't hallucinating. "Well, I was worried you weren't enjoying the night, but I can see you're having the best night of all of us." Lips curling upward to chuckle, the amusement died once he caught a glimpse of Cersei's mystery lover. "Wait… Eddard Stark?"

_You have got to be fucking kidding me…_ "Fuck off, Tyrion," she hissed.

"Well, that was what you were about to do, Cersei." Hiccupping, the imp began to giggle. "I congratulate you, Lord Stark. Taming the mighty lioness."

Cool air having calmed his raging desire, Ned was mortified. Not at his and Cersei's passion, but the fact they were caught - not that it made a visible difference. "I should go," he said evenly. "Lord Tyrion, Lady Cersei." Trying not to flush the deep crimson of Cersei's gown, he made a quick exit. Still wrapping his head around what had just happened.

Eyes following Ned like a lost puppy, pleas for him to stay dying on her tongue, Cersei's loss changed to rage as she found Tyrion once more. "Must you ruin everything, you little cockroach?!" She didn't bother to wait for Tyrion before marching inside, body still humming from his touch.

* * *

"That went well, all things considered."

A mirthless chuckle left Rhaegar's lips. "All things considered being right. Lyanna truly shined tonight, and my father only hurts his own cause."

Connington nodded, standing right beside the Crown Prince. They made some sight, the fiery black and red of Rhaegar's colors matched by the vibrant inferno of Connington's hair. Both fit, powerful men in their prime. It had become the jape of court that Rhaegar snapped up enough beauties for the both of them. Little did they know… Connington was discreet about that facet of his life. At least to most. "He only redoubled the urge of those who already hate the Starks to continue to hate them. His Grace swayed none." _Forgive me, my silver prince, if I don't out myself as in the former category._

"I thought I could get Lyanna to Dragonstone before he aimed his fire on her. Please insure that a boat is ready for the night after my wedding, Jon."

"Consider it done, my Prince." He'd make the command tomorrow, loathe as he was to participate in Rhaegar shackling himself to another woman undeserving of the beautiful future King. "Perhaps you shouldn't leave? You're the only one that can truly control him."

Rhaegar pursed his lips. "He is decompensating before my eyes, aye." He ran his hand down his face, fighting the frustration welling inside of him. A frustration and hurt that Connington had never seen him free of - except when with him as children… and now with his two brides. "But I owe it to my family to get them out of here first. If I could take my mother and brother to Dragonstone, I'd do so." His violet eyes met the Hands, intense with a desperate plea. "You'll have to hold the keep until I return, and protect my mother."

Nodding, there was no way the Lord of Griffin's Roost could disobey that order. "You can count on me, Rhaegar." Skirting the line he had set for himself… the urge simply too strong to completely ignore, Connington placed his hand on Rhaegar's shoulder blade. To everyone else a comforting pat between friends - but in reality… Gods, it was torture for him. Being in the company of the perfect man only to know that he would never be his. Hand lingering, fighting the compulsion to drift lower on the Crown Prince's body.

Noticing his beloved - both his beloveds - Rhaegar smiled softly and looked at Connington… who dropped his hand. "Well, I should take my wife and my bride back to the royal quarters. End the day with the two that I trust best." He chuckled, not noticing the flicker of pain in Connington's eyes. "Goodnight, Jon."

"Goodnight, my Prince."

Watching the small crowd of guards and ass-kissers following his sister, goodbrother, and... goodsister?... heading back to the royal apartments, Ned leaned back in his chair and sipped at the goblet of wine. Cringing at the sickly-sweet taste. "How can the southerners drink this piss?"

Brandon snorted. "Please, this is the best wine the Arbor has to offer." The heir to Winterfell gulped the wine, already deep into his cups. "The stocks at Riverrun can't compare."

"It tastes too… tart for me. Give me a proper ale any day," Ned replied. "That doesn't have the hint of overripe fruit."

"Oh Ned." Shaking his head, Brandon reached over and shook his shoulder affectionately. "What in Seven Hells did you do for all those years in the Eyrie for drink?"

"Mineral water mostly… the Hill Tribes brewed a sort of ale." He shuddered at the memory, but it was better than wine. "Had to just stomach it the rest of the time, all my friends japing me over it."

"I'd jape you over it, Ned. Gods… where's your sense of adventure?" If Bran was angered over the King's insulting speech, he had moved on quickly - or the alcohol and his short attention span made his moods erratic. "We're in the fucking capitol city of Westeros, our sister about to become royalty! Imagine what the two of us could do? Rhaegar could request us to sail the world for him!" His glassy eyes were nonetheless manic with excitement at the very idea.

Ned glanced at his brother with a cocked brow. "Really? You're the heir to Winterfell, brother. The North… and Lady Catelyn, will need you."

He waved Ned off. "Pish, father is healthy - I won't be needed for a long while yet."

"There must always be a Stark at Winterfell."

"I don't plan to be without an heir for long. Catelyn is a good mother, she'll raise the babe well."

_She'll raise that babe to be a Riverman follower of the Faith, if you're not there._ He bit his tongue though, downing the wine even though it tasted horrible. Wanting to forget. "You're living in a dream world, brother."

Bran looked at him queerly. "What creature bit you in the stones?" His face darkened. "The King?"

"Something like that."

His mood changed on a silver stag yet again. "The gall of him…" Bran at least had the guile even drunk to speak in a whisper. "How dare he attack our House. After all we fucking did for him!"

"He wanted us to surround Tywin Lannister for a… let's just say insane reason. Same reason he had Rhaegar marry Princess Elia, and his treatment of her… is still worse." Even while speaking, Ned wasn't listening. Mind elsewhere. Green eyes… warm mouth… moans that still made his cock twitch just thinking about it.

Stout lot it did me. Consumed by their passion that they were, the words they had spoken still rang true. Any relationship would be impossible between them. Few Lords Paramount would marry their daughters to a second son without a keep, practically impossible if said Lord was as ambitious as Tywin Lannister. _You chose to fancy the most difficult woman, Ned._

Thinking more on it, the only regret he had was that they were interrupted… and that scared him. Something about Cersei Lannister made his honor evaporate. Yet... perhaps the greatest honor was following one's heart? Lyanna did, and House Stark was at the height of its power.

"Oh hells," he heard Bran mutter. Turning his head, Ned felt his entire mood sour. Robert. As if his luck couldn't get any worse. Insulted by the King, cock blocked by the Imp of Casterly Rock, and now being faced with the former friend he hadn't spoken to since threatening to cut his balls off.

Unsurprisingly, Robert was tipsy - face flushed and swaying slightly as he walked. What did end up surprising Ned was that tipsy was all Robert was. At this point most festive nights, if not passed out he'd be barely standing and with vomit coating his clothes. But his eyes were alert, hair still well-coiffed, and doublet free of grime. He looked like the proud, handsome Lord of a warrior house that he was. "Ned," he murmured sheepishly. "Lord Brandon."

"Robert." Ned wasn't keen on taking a swing at him. It would only complicate matters, so he kept himself polite but guarded.

Brandon had no such restraint - and it wasn't all the wine. "Lord Baratheon." He looked ready to explode at any minute.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Robert at least had the sense to pick up on the tension. Fuck, Ned was my brother. He felt like shit. "Um… what a night. Sorry bout that business with His Grace… he's my great uncle, so I feel somewhat culpable…" _Not that the damn dragonspawn cares._ "I guess…"

"What do you want, Robert? I'm in no mood for your drunken nonsense." The night with Cersei had left Ned bitter and sexually frustrated, in desperate need for a cold dunk in the ocean and sleep.

He stiffened his spine, ready to take his rap to the knuckles. "Ned… Lord Brandon… I'm sorry."

The Starks looked at each other before turning back to Robert. "I beg your pardon?"

"What can I say Ned, 'cept I'm sorry. I didn't have my head on straight…"

"No you didn't." Just the fact that Robert Baratheon of all people was apologizing was momentous. The burly stag never let down his pride, and the fact he hadn't drank himself into a stupor that night seemed to mean something. _Jon did tell me to not give up on him._

_He forced himself on Lyanna._

_It doesn't serve Lyanna well to make him an enemy._

"You really expect us to believe you?" Brandon spat. "Fuck you and the stag you rode in on."

Swallowing, Robert looked over at Ned. "You feel the same way?"

"Honestly, Robert?" The quiet wolf pursed his lips. "Yes. What you did… I can't trust you around Lyanna anymore."

"And us? Our friendship?"

"If I wanted to save it, what makes me think that you would be one to trust once more?"

"'Aight," Robert sighed. "Slug me."

Ned blinked. "What?"

"Ya heard me, Ned." He stuck out his face, angling it into a juicy target. "Slug me. I'll give ya a free shot cause I was an ass to your sister. Come on."

"Robert, I'm not slugging you." That was just what House Stark needed, the Princess' brother caught assaulting the King's great-nephew mere days before her wedding. "I'm no brute."

He cussed a blind streak. "When did you become some Lysene buggerboy? Stop taking up the ass and slug me!"

"I'm not giving up my honor…"

"Oh for the love of the gods…" Without warning, Brandon lunged. Right hook leaving a sharp crack into Robert's jaw just before his knee lurched up to ram into the gut. Double blow felling the Lord of Storm's End, wind knocked out of him. "That's for Lyanna, you drunk fucker."

Jaw dropped, Ned stared at his brother. "Gods, Bran."

Brandon narrowed his eyes. "Don't tell me you didn't want to?"

Coughing, wheezing as he struggles to inflate his lungs, Robert manages to bring a finger to his lip, feeling it slip. "Went for a double hit, there," he sputtered.

"Second was for me. Ned already got his licks in."

There's a silence before Robert starts laughing uproariously. "Now that's a punch I can drink to, ya' son of a bitch!" He wagged his finger at Ned. "By the Seven, Ned, are your arms made of ice or something?" Hauling himself up, he grabbed a half-empty goblet of wine off a table and downed it. "Had to let your dashing brother fight your battles for you? Can defeat Arthur Dayne but can't slug me? I get ya' prefer a sword cause yer' pecker's small."

Ned crosses his arms. "My 'pecker' might not get as much work as you, but it's just fine." Then all three of them started laughing. Jon Arryn's words filling Ned's mind, he knew that he couldn't let a hate brew between Robert and he. Never would he trust him so implicitly, never would he allow Lyanna anywhere near him, but the man that was practically his third brother did deserve some consideration after years of being closer to him than all his other siblings. "Come on, let's head to the gardens. Sober up a bit."

"Fuck that, I'm gonna find me another flagon."

"Took the words right out of my mouth," Brandon grinned, mood once again shifting. "Perhaps I'll visit Catelyn when the night is done."

"You and Lady Tully… fuck, she's a pretty thing. A Lady fit for a Lord, I shall say."

_A Lady fit for a Lord…_ Golden hair filling his mind, that flagon of wine did sound appealing to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o many different characters making their appearance. I'll just let this sit here :D
> 
> Wowza, those dresses for the Princesses!
> 
> If I can get 35 reviews, I'll update on Tuesday.
> 
> Next up, Ned and Cersei meet again.


	21. If the Walls had Ears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, chapter as promised!
> 
> Someone made a comment about the ages of the characters and I think I should address this. Yes, I aged up many characters (Dacey... at this point she can be considered an OC House Mormont character). I have my reasons, namely that I dislike how Martin made so many of the characters end up getting involved in major things such as marriage, rule, and lordship at such a young age. Dany was too young to marry at age 13, same for Jon to go to the Wall. I prefer the show of making them 16, and this is what I chose to do with this story. If anyone doesn't like it, then fine, but it's what I'm comfortable writing.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

"You're quiet, wife," Aerys broke the silence, watching her from the looking glass.

Rhaella blinked. "There's… not much to say, your Grace. Not with preparing for the wedding." Danger. Apprehension. Rhaella felt both when her husband showed up - for years, he never graced her bed, her chambers. Preferring to sleep alone in a private solar closer to the Iron Throne.

The King was still sharp and observant when he wanted to be. "You disapprove of what I said about the Starks, don't you?" Jaime tensed from where he stood, gingerly stepping ever closer to Rhaella.

A sigh… there was no escaping this. "While… your words were… truthful." Her lies were seamless, knowing to give him the least amount of rope. "I think our son's betrothal feast wasn't the right time?"

"Wasn't the right time?" The King turned, eyes almost glowing a bright purple. "And when do you think the right time would be, wife? When the Starks have joined with Tywin to surround me?" A deep breath, throat scratchy. "No… they must be nipped in the bud now."

"If you say so, your Grace. I trust your judgement." Rhaella hoped this would be the end of it.

But sadly, she didn't usually get what she wanted. "Lyanna… a little bitch, isn't she?" The Queen said nothing, knowing Lyanna's only crime was loving Rhaegar. "Just like the Dornish whore… I don't trust them." He walked to the window. "Our children, Rhaella, gods - they are strong. Strong with the blood of the dragon."

A sense of loss filled Rhaella at the many babes she lost. "Aye, they were perfect."

"It was Jenny that took them away." He kicked at the wall. "Jenny and Dunk, they killed my perfect babies and poisoned Rhaegar. Turned him into my worthless father." Aerys turned, looking intensely at Rhaella. "Well I won't let that happen, wife. Not with Viserys and not with our new babe."

Stomach dropping into a painful pit, Rhaella felt as if she had been hit. "What?"

"Yes, a girl! It is preordained!" Without warning, he picked her up, pulling her close against him. "A proper dragon bride for Viserys, uncorrupted by Jenny."

Suddenly, he moved to kiss her in full view of his Kingsguard seemed to notice how she involuntarily flinched. Just a slight movement, but the damage was done. Rhaella screamed as Aerys shoved her, knocking her into a table covered in jewelry and sharp silver trinkets.

"You won't deny me, wife!" he snarled. "You will do your duty! And this time you won't destroy Viserys and our daughter as you did with Rhaegar! I won't let you!"

Pain in her arm and food, Rhaella could only nod. Completely stunned at the turn of events.

Staring down at his wife, Aerys' faraway blinked. "Seven hells, I need to think." He needed to be with his eggs. "Clean her up," he barked at Jaime, leaving without another word.

With the slam of the door, Jaime darted to his Queen. "Are you alright, your Grace?"  
He easily hefted her back to her feet - delicate frame on his.

Rhaella nodded, eyes filling with tears. "I'm alright," she murmured. "Thank you, Ser Jaime. I just need..." Feeling something dripping down her arm, Rhaella looked and found a long but shallow cut in her arm. "Oh fuck, the last thing I need…" With that, nothing can stop her sobs. Used to her brother's treatment, somehow this was too much to bear.

Jaime had always been the more gentle of the Lannister twins, but rage burned inside him. A powerful protective instinct for the woman he loved. "Let's clean this up," he ground out, trying to keep strong for her. Nodding, one badly-placed step upon the floor caused Rhaella's ankle to twist. With a yelp, she almost tumbled to the ground… only for a pair of strong arms to hef her back up. "Try not to make me do this thrice, my Queen."

She smiled half-heartedly, eyes sparkling from the tears. "I'll try not to…" Testing the waters, Rhaella placed her foot back on the ground… only to wince. Rhaella was a Targaryen Queen. She'd bear it. "Just don't go too far away."

"Fuck this," Jaime finally said, taking matters into his own hands. With a yelp from her, the Lion of Lannister lifted her bridal style. Intent on carrying her to the bed as painlessly as possible.

Forced to wrap her arms around his neck to steady herself, Rhaella opened her mouth to scold him for the breach of protocol… But her objection died on her lips. Jaime was carrying her slight form as if lifting a feather. Her tongue grew dry at the feat of strength, unable not to sigh at the inhale of his masculine scent.

As soon as it began, it was over. Jaime depositing her on the bed and moving to grab a wet cloth. Rhaella shivering in spite of herself, missing his arms handling her so effortlessly. Her tears were forgotten, head spinning with thoughts alien to her.

Returning, Jaime placed the cloth on the wound. Rhaella hissed in discomfort, but a soft stroking of her arm calmed her. It took the knight everything in him not to give in and kiss her there. Inability to truly take her pain away only fueling his own anger. "You shouldn't have to take this… from him."

Turning her head to glare at him, there was no anger in Rhaella's eyes. Just worry. He couldn't help but hold out a forlorn hope. "Don't speak, Ser Jaime."

"You deserve better than a husband who hurts you." Apparently, excoriating the Starks in front of the entire Realm wasn't enough to satiate his rage against Brandon Stark for his comment. It was a common sight, Aerys triggered by something and then expanding his rage to any slight or whatever problem his mind could dredge up. The Queen that Jaime loved was the easiest target. "A husband that doesn't deserve to live."

"When that husband is the King," she replied, praying he would simply let it go. "Kingsguards shouldn't speak ill of the King they serve." Ser Jaime was the only light of her life not of her blood. So much like Joanna that it often shocked her - having him was like having a piece of her long-dead childhood friend and companion.

His unrequited feelings drove him far beyond what his oaths as a Kingsguard determined was proper. What was smart. "It would be easy." Cersei often said he spoke or acted before he thought. This was one of those times. "My sword, his back… your pain would be over."

Violet eyes widening, Rhaella grew red. "Never speak of such things!" Barking with anger, but derived from fear. Rhaella couldn't bear seeing him beheaded… or burned alive. "You are out of line, Ser Jaime, and have been out of line the entire night." She saw him grimace but Rhaella didn't stop. "He is your King. If you cross the line again, you shall be dismissed from my service. Are we clear?"

Hanging his head, Jaime only nodded. "Forgive me, my Queen. I did not know what I was saying." He did feel foolish, but there was the extra pain of truly hurting his Queen. Rising, unable to look at her without shame. "I'll fetch Pycelle for you."

Rhaella felt cold when Jaime left the bed. _No, don't go…_ Almost reaching out and begging for him to stay - but her words actually hurting him, it broke her resolve. More painful to her than even Aerys' words.

Approaching the door, Jaime took one last glance at the Queen, hearing her soft sobs return. Steeling himself in spite of it being a dagger to his heart, he managed to leave the chambers. Stranded in the corridor, suddenly the rage spewed forth. A hushed snarl as he slammed his fist into one of the columns, pain of cut knuckles and sprained bones radiating through his hand.

Now Pycelle would have two injuries to treat.

* * *

A fire roared in the hearth, filling the chamber with a toasty warmth. Princess Rhaenys nevertheless burrowed under the goose down. Shivering from the chilly winter's knight drifting from Blackwater Bay. "_Muna,_ I's cold…"

Lyanna could only chuckle. "This is cold? You've never been north of Dragonstone, have you?" The girl shook her head, causing her to lean down and hug her close. "My my, what will happen when you see snow?"

That perked her right up. "Jump in snow!"

"Settle down, little dragon. You still need to sleep." She and Elia had arranged to switch parenting duties each day, trying to get both Rhaenys and Aegon used to Lyanna as a mother So far, it worked wonders… if the princess would go to sleep. "Oh, my sweet summer child. How about I tell you a story of snow… the greatest snow in the history of the North."

Curling into a smile, Rhaenys nodded. Wide violet eyes trained on her new mother.

She closed her eyes for a moment, recalling the words that Old Nan had told her in her childhood. "The snows were so intense that they fell a hundred feet deep."

"Wow." Lyanna doubted that Rhaenys truly knew what a hundred feet meant - a mountain of now taller than even the Wall.

She nodded, continuing - while cleaning up the dark, fearful elements of the tale. Old Nan liked to try and frighten them which in all fairness was what she, Ned, Bran, and Benjen would ask for. Rhaenys… at merely three namedays she wasn't ready for that. "The First Men called it the Long Night, when the sun hides for years and children are born and live their lives all in darkness. A night thousands of years ago that lasted a generation."

"Where was sun?" Rhaenys asked innocently.

"No sun, hidden by the snowclouds."

"Why? Sun awways rise."

"Because of the white walkers, little dragons. Big ice monsters, skinny as bones. They swept through cities and kingdoms, riding their dead horses, hunting with their packs of pale spiders big as hounds…"

She stopped as Rhaenys gasped, pulling the covers over her head. "No _muna_… _kepa_ and Sewr Awtur save me frwam white walkers." Even with paring down Old Nan's details, Lyanna had scared the princess all the same.

Both adorable and heartbreaking, Lyanna pulled back the covers to pepper Rhaenys' face with kisses. "Don't be worried, little dragon. The white walkers are gone."

Violet eyes blinked hopefully. "Rweally?"

Lyanna nodded. "A great hero emerged. Forging a sword for a hundred days and a hundred nights a sword of burning flame called Lightbringer. With it, this hero took on the white walkers and destroyed them, bringing sun and summer to all of Westeros. All waiting for the dragons to journey from Valyria to become their kings and be all cute." Lyanna began tickling Rhaenys, making her giggle.

_"Muna,_ stop… he he…" Falling back on the mattress with a wide smile before yawning. Arms stretching above her.

"Looks like it's time for bed sweetling." The she-wolf pulled up the covers to wrap around Rhaenys tightly, kissing her forehead. "Goodnight, little dragon."

As she made her way to the door, a soft whimper called her back. _"Muna…"_

She couldn't refuse the plea. "Yes, Rhae?" Sighing, Lyanna sat in the chair next to the tiny bed. "What is it?"

"Do you wuv me?"

Lyanna blinked, not a question she expected. "What do you mean, sweetling? Of course I love you." She did - she truly did, as much as a child of her own womb. Of this, Lyanna was certain.

But Rhaenys wasn't convinced. "Why?" Suddenly, a tear fell down the girl's cheek.

The sight made Lyanna's heart clench. "Rhae… why are you crying?" she asked, voice catching with fear and worry. "Please tell me." _I can't see you like this…_

What she ended up saying broke Lyanna's heart further. "I hear red man speak wif owld robe man." _Red man and old robe man… Connington and Pycelle?_ "They say 'Muna Lwyanna no wuv Dorne. Muna Lwyanna get wid of me and Egg'" A soft sob left her. "I wuv you, _muna,_ no get wid of me…"

At that moment, Elia arrived at the door. Wanting to kiss her beloved daughter good night after putting Egg to bed, only to hear her crying. Worried, she almost entered but was stilled by Lyanna's voice.

Now it was Lyanna who was crying. "Oh sweetling… my sweet little dragon…" She kissed Rhaenys' cheek, burying her face in the nest of black curls. The Princess smelled like Rhaegar only with a more gentle scent. "I will never do that to you. I love you with all my heart and soul, just like your father and brother."

"Pwomise?"

"I promise." _Why do you love this girl?_ A nagging voice asked within her, negative and questioning. _She is not yours…_ Lyanna wished to scoff at it, tell the voice to piss off, but… Why did she love Rhae and Egg? Why had they wormed their way into her heart so quickly? "You're just like _kepa,_ you know that?"

Rhaenys smiled. "Kepa is the bwavest, stwongest man."

"That he is," Lyanna swooned. "I love him so much, little dragon." Yes, Rhaenys and Egg were the children of the man she loved, but instinct told Lyanna that they were as much her destiny as the children of her womb - of Visenya, Jaehaerys, Lyarra, and the son as yet to be named. Old Nan and her mother had often said the Starks were a line seeped in the magic of the old gods, so perhaps it was that. "You are practically my daughter, and when he and I are wed you will be in the sight of gods and men."

"I wuv you, _muna."_

Ears pressed against the door, Elia pulled back. Chest feeling tight. Part of her glad that Lyanna was taken with Rhaenys so selflessly, but there was still that tiny worry. A pain at seeing another woman earn the sort of unconditional love from her precious child. _The woman my husband loves too, without the baggage we have…_

Mind and heart a swirling cauldron of emotions, worries, and rationalizations that she was overthinking everything, Elia walked back to her shared chambers with Rhaegar. Needing his arms around her. Not hearing the next part of the conversation…

Hugging, Rhaenys nuzzling into Lyanna's neck, all was how it should be. "Don't you worry, my little dragon._ Kepa_ and both your _munas_ love you very much."

"Mmmm…" Something came to mind. "Do me wuving you make me wuv _muna_ no more?"

Brows furrowing, Lyanna pulled back. "No."

"Red man say that. That you twy to take me fow youself… I wuv muna too." Whereas there was sadness before, now there was conflict in the poor girl. A deep confusion as to her circumstances. Had she hidden this for so long?

A burning anger for Jon Connington formed in Lyanna's veins, but that was for another time. "Listen to me, Rhae. Dragons answer to neither gods nor men. Others are normal, but you are extraordinary."

"Extwaowdinawy…" Rhaenys tried but failed to pronounce the word. _Gods, I could eat her up!_

"Elia is your _muna_, and she loves you so much. I would end myself before I take you away from her." Her family's sayings kept coming back. "My own _muna_ once said 'The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.' We are part of a pack, and nothing will rip us apart if I have anything to say about it."

One last smile on her lips, Rhaenys drifted off to sleep. Face free of worry for the first time in days.

Lyanna softly kissed her cheek. "Goodnight, my sweet babe. Your pack loves you so." Quietly she made her exit, unaware that Elia had ever been there.

* * *

"If there are gods, they truly hate me right now." One moment, Cersei was in her chambers, a glass of wine in her hand and mulling just how irritated and horny she was, and the next brought the most annoying person she knew to disturb such peace… or rather restless silence.

"You don't have to get testy with me, sister," Trion drolled, leaning against the armrest of his chair. "I'm happy for you. Ned Stark is quite the catch if you think about it." He belched, causing Cersei to roll her eyes.

"I thought you were sober?"

He offered a tiny smile of apology. "Mostly sober. Had to have a little liquid courage to get up the gumption to run the gauntlet by seeing you. Personally, I'd much rather make the eight…" Tyrion wiggled his eyebrows.

Groaning, Cersei wondered if she could smother him with a pillow before anyone noticed. _Eh, too impracticable._ "You're a pig." Why the fuck do we have to be related?

Giggling again, Tyrion looked somberly at his only sister. Certainly better company than Aunt Genna's half-Frey brats with Jaime too busy. At least Cersei had some restraint about her. "At least thank the gods it was myself that found you close to losing your maidenhead and not father… he doesn't need the added difficulty that murdering the brother of the future Queen would give him..."

Sigh leaving her lips, Cersei just wanted this torture to end. "Tyrion, I'm tired and I have a headache…"

"All things that Ned Stark is likely glad you didn't have while he was devouring you." Catching her murderous glare return, Tyrion put his hands up. "Alright, that's my last one.' While normally a debased disgrace to the Lannister name, when he did grow serious Tyrion looked exactly like their father - and with the brains to back it up. "This isn't some infatuation. You really fancy Eddard Stark?"

Sighing, Cersei let her head fall back. "I can't believe I'm talking to you about this." Frankly, since Melara had nothing else to add and their pasts made talking to him… awkward, it was either Tyrion or Gerion. With Gerion away at the moment… "Yes, I fancy him."

Nodding, Tyrion leaned forward. "And why is that? To be honest, he doesn't seem like your type." All dour and brooding, Ned Stark would be quite dashing but wasn't the type to ever flaunt it. Definitely not the kind of man Cersei tended to favor. _Quite the conundrum._

"I don't know." It frustrated her sometimes. "With the collapse of my almost betrothal to the Prince… Something just attracted me to the Stark. It baffles me." Much as she despised Tyrion, it did feel good to disclose this. The weight on her chest wasn't as heavy. "Ironic, my first words to him was 'Stuff your apology, northern fool!'"

"That's practically foreplay for you, sister." He grinned, leaning back against the chair like an arrogant lord holding court. But he grew serious. "Do you think it's about…"

Blindsided there, Cersei glared at her brother. "Do not go there, Tyrion."

But Tyrion was determined to explore this - for both his curiosity and whatever clarity Cersei could obtain. "Your outlook, I mean when you left for the tourney you still desired to be Rhaegar's wife, but your entitlement to it was nothing like before father made you drink the tea."

"I told you not to go there!" Her eyes shut tight - Cersei had finally put the pain of that moment to bed, only for her hated brother to bring it up again. "Don't, don't, don't…" She withdrew, almost tearing up.

Tyrion may have been an ass sometimes, but unlike what many - sometimes including Cersei - said, he was no monster. "Alright, sister. I won't refer to it again." There was a silence, allowing her some breathing space to resume her composure. "Personally, I think you should let that Stark boy have his way with you. You'll be far less wound..."

Now the proper Cersei Lannister returned from the show of vulnerability. "When you were a babe, I almost smothered you with a pillow. Wanna see if I can do so now..."

"Alright, Cersei. I know when I've overstayed my welcome." He pushed himself off the chair, hobbling out on his stunted legs. "One last thing. Don't let father's ambitions dissuade you from having your direwolf… he's probably gonna end up on the small council one day. Follow your heart and count yourself as lucky as Lady Lyanna."

Watching Tyrion leave, Cersei rose and walked to her bed. Falling upon it - staring at the ceiling. _Gods…_ Tyrion, little monster that he was, ended up having a point. Perhaps that even as she pined for Rhaegar, little affair with Jaime notwithstanding, there had been a change about her after… Even in her own thoughts, Cersei couldn't bear to think about it._ Ned Stark is no dashing prince or handsome knight._

_He is handsome… and a fighter._ No one that fought Ser Arthur Dayne and won could be thought of as anything different. _A good man._

_But he is a northern barbarian, a second son of a backwater Lord…_

_A man who set my loins on fire…_ Groaning loud, she buried her head in her pillow. Hoping that her sleep wouldn't be disturbed too much by the burning between her legs.

* * *

Bouncing the cute little bundle clutched tightly to her bosom, Elia cooed gently. "Sleep little one. _Muna's_ got you close… that's it." Violet eyes that were just like his father looking up at her, Prince Aegon yawned, arms stretching above his head before he fell asleep in her arms. "Rest up, little dragon."

"By the gods, motherhood agrees with you." Walking beside her in the gardens, listening to the hummingbirds buzz around the various winter blooming flowers planted by the groundskeepers, Oberyn watched his sister with a pure smile. He always did love his family as he did life. "Last time I saw you, you were pregnant with the tiny Princess."

Elia chuckled, being with child the first time she felt truly content with her lot in life. The first time Rhaegar and she managed to truly connect, however strained. "You have more experience than than me with childrearing… the bearing, not so much."

Oberyn shrugged. "I saw Nymeria's mother give birth. Believe me, I'm glad I was born with a cock." He smirked as Elia rolled his eyes. "Stop being so prudish, dear sister. It's how our parents made us."

"You sound just like Ellaria… and that isn't a complement by the way." Still bouncing Aegon, Elia looked at a newly planted shrub of winter roses. _They are beautiful…_ She'd come to recently appreciate the wild beauty of the north.

Normally observant, his wistful remembrance of the night he had arrived - nude body tangled with an equally nude goddess in her bed - took his concentration. "Ah, yes. I hope the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms isn't angry that I… sampled her beautiful Lady in Waiting."

She narrowed her eyes. "I hope that you weren't referring to Dacey Mormont." All she got was a quirk of Oberyn's head. _The woman that sampled half the Red Keep, sleeping with ten Northern guards and maids since Lyanna arrived in King's Landing… of course she falls for my brother._ "I bet she took you to Chataya's."

He shook his head. "No, no brothel. Dear Ellaria Sand was worth ten whores, the way she could do this one thing with her tongue…"

"Alright, that's enough of an image." Elia didn't want to throw up while she held Aegon. "But only one woman for you? I'm surprised, brother." Oberyn grinned in response. "So I take it I'll have to find a new Lady in Waiting."

There was a slight silence. "About that… you need not worry once I leave."

It took a moment, but Elia did a double take. "You little bastard." She was simultaneously in jest and deathly serions. "You defiled my Lady in Waiting and are parting with her without another word?" Shaking her head, at that moment Elia sounded like their deceased mother. Quite scolding. "Why must you do that, Oberyn? She has an attraction to you."

"It was her idea, dear sister. And the beautiful Ellaria is just like me, a free spirit."

The Princess glared crossly, huffing. "I think obliviousness runs in our family if you are that boneheaded."

Smirking softly, Oberyn pointed out to Blackwater Bay. "See there, a thousand lands to explore. I am second in line to Doran, and he already has three children healthy as horses. I'm not required to inherit anything, so why not spread my wings."

"Because you have an actual connection with Ellaria?"

He shrugged again, spreading his arms. "I can't discount that. If we are meant to be, then she shall grace my life again." Oberyn leaned down to smell one of the flowers. "Let's leave it in the gods' hands."

"I think you're making a mistake, brother."

"Many women in my life, dear sister. Two daughters… at least that I know of." Another chuckle, another eye roll. "If there's anyone that knows the vagaries of love, it's me. Now your goodbrother, he's hopeless."

Elia furrowed her brows. Couldn't be Viserys… "Brandon?" No, he's a ladies man… "Ned Stark you mean?"

A nod. "Aye, spoke to him at your betrothal feast. Quite a brooder he is - worse than Rhaegar if you can believe it."

"You spoke to Ned Stark?"_ Oh, now this I have to hear._ They took a turn out of the gardens, wandering close to one of the open yards of the keep. Members of the household guard trained in the distance, supervised by the up and coming knight Alliser Thorne - loyalty to House Targaryen bordering on zealotry. Though she was still miffed about him and Ellaria, Elia had learned in her time as Princess not to hold a grudge for very long. "What did you discuss?" she asked, easing Egg in her arms as he slept.

"Oh, just his pining after Cersei Lannister."

If she wasn't holding Aegon, Elia would have probably fell over in shock. "Eddard fancies Cersei Lannister?" _Gods, that is something no one would have ever expected._ "I greatly pity him."

"I don't. If he is able to nab the Light of the West, she'll fuck his brains out. A seasoned lover can always tell that type of woman. Cersei is that way… and so is your sister's wife." Oberyn wriggled his brows.

Biting her lip, Elia blushed. "I wouldn't know anything about…"

"Obara!" he barked at a child around eight namedays. "Keep your arms up. You're sparring, not dancing." Matched against a Martell guard, the girl did as she was told - improving greatly. _Lyanna would like Dornish custom, I believe._

_Lyanna..._

She looked up to find Oberyn staring at her. "What troubles you, sister?"

"Oh… nothing."

"Don't give me that. Our brother might be fooled, or too oblivious, but you never got to pawn me off so easily." He crossed his arms. "Why are you so pensive lately?"

Secretly craving a sympathetic ear, Elia spilled everything. From what she observed the night before outside Rhaenys' chambers, to Lyanna's monopolization of Rhaegar's adoring gazes, to the slow reconnecting she found herself having with her husband. Speaking of things she was ashamed to say or think… Oberyn wouldn't judge her, so it just came out.

Oberyn merely listened. "Alright," he finally spoke. "Turns out I was right all along about you and Rhaegar loving each other. I saw it when Rhaenys was in your womb and it just took a little push to get your heads out of your asses."

"Enough, Oberyn. I'm being serious right now." Easing Egg in her lap, she ran her fingers through her raven locks. "My mind is spinning and I have no way of calming it."

"Alright. Firstly, you have nothing to worry about."

She blinked. "And why is that?"

"If Lyanna were to try and usurp you, she would have made moves already." That had been proven the moment Lyanna held a knife to his throat to defend Rhaegar. Oberyn could see it in her eyes. "My worries…" A sigh. "You are my first priority, Elle." A name only Oberyn ever had for her. "If Lyanna was usurping you… if the Starks are usurping you, which is still something I can't dismiss at this point in time." Eddard… he was harmless. The man seemed more preoccupied with his own love life than anything political, placing him as a guileless novice at the game. Brandon seemed like an oblivious fun-lover, while Rickard was hard to read. Still have some work to go. "Our brother on the other hand, he ranted to me for a whole day about the need to keep Aegon's birthright."

Elia groaned. "He's always been more obsessed about the family legacy than his actual family." Her confusion about her role as her heart pushed her to Rhaegar but Doran's orders pushed her towards being a spy for Sunspear had clouded her early years. Preventing a true bond with her husband before Aerys began abusing her. She wouldn't forget it.

"Look, I wouldn't worry about Lyanna… while Doran would be stubborn about this, I see her love for your children as genuine. There's no faking that kind of adoration, and I honestly think you didn't hear their entire conversation. You may well be taking it out of context."

Elia had to admit he had a point. "Brother, I'm glad Lyanna cares for Egg and Rhae. I'm glad she cares for Rhaegar… I've had more affection from him now than at any time in our marriage, but would he have ever done so if not for Lyanna?" Her greatest source of dejection at the moment, that Rhaegar's love was just guilt.

"Why are you overthinking it, just enjoy having an actual husband." Of course it wasn't as cut and dry. "Dragons are not deceptive by nature, sister. Not when it comes to family." He smirked slyly. "Do you want to know why it is that you are so emotionally frazzled."

Egg whimpered, so Elia was distracted by him - missing the smirk. "What?"

"I think that you want to make love to both Rhaegar and Lyanna." That caught her attention, jaw dropping. "What? Every girl that tried it in my presence enjoyed herself."

That merely earned him a smack on the shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aerys is spiraling further out of control, but even here poor Jaime can't properly console the woman he loves :(
> 
> Rhaenys is adorable and Lyanna discovers some important context about herself and her feelings... but Elia may have heard her out of context. Good thing she has Oberyn... but will he be enough?
> 
> Writing Cersei in this story is just so much fun.
> 
> Next up, Lyanna and Elia take a trip to the city with a certain someone.


	22. The Northern Bard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, chapter as promised!
> 
> A Happy Birthday to GulfYankee23! Be sure to check out his story Wolves of War (on fanfiction). Great read.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D
> 
> PS: anyone among the readers who is or knows someone that can do original artwork for this piece?

Tonight was the night - a night where he would finally clear his mind before his wedding. Lacing his boots, Rhaegar admired the scuffed leather and rawhide laces that so adorned them. More precious to him than all the fine footwear that lined his closets. Jenny had got them for him. The woods witch turned Princess had guided him through Maegor I's hidden passageways, allowing young Rhaegar a safe place to play his harp. And when he was older… other things.

Even without Ser Barristan this night, he would enjoy it.

"My Queen," Rhaegar heard Ser Arthur say from outside the door. Uh oh. "Forgive me, but Prince Rhaegar is asleep."

"It seems rather early for that," he heard his mother reply. "And why would he be sleeping alone when he has shared Princess Elia's bed since he has arrived." Not waiting for Arthur's answer, Rhaegar found his mother throw open the door before he could dash for the secret escape route.

"Mother…" he managed to stammer, eyes wide. "What are you…?"

Frayed leather boots, trousers splotched and moth eaten. If not for his lustrous silver hair, he would look like a common smallfolk laborer. The idea, I so suspect. "I should ask you the same question, my son." She couldn't help but smirk.

"Forgive me, your Grace," Arthur said from the doorway. "But I don't think you would have wished me to detain the Queen."

Based on how he trembled and shifted his eyes, Rhaella didn't blame either Princess for finding him utterly adorable. "Uh… well…"

Rhaella giggled. He was just as cute as he was when a babe. She walked over to wrap her arms around her eldest boy. "Oh, don't look so surprised, Rhaegar. Did you think that your mother wouldn't notice how often you would sneak out of the Red Keep?" At his embarrassed blush, she smiled. "What were you doing out there to begin with?"

Motioning for his mother to sit down, as he found a chair Rhaegar felt a bit unburdened. "Sometimes I needed some time… to be free of my duty even for a little while." It had been so enjoyable that he couldn't stop himself. "Plus…"

"You wanted to see your domain." At his nod, she leaned over to kiss his brow. "You take so after my father, it's uncanny." Her son was perfect, who would be a wise and just King. "But I didn't come to talk to you about this."

"What did you wish to speak of, mother?"

They were seated close together, Rhaella feeling an overwhelming love and affection for her perfect son. The person that made dealing with Aerys worth it, a worthy burden to bear. "Ever since Lyanna came… I've seen you happy, Rhaegar. Happier than you've been for a long time."

He smiles. "She makes me happy, mother."

"And Elia?" His smile faded into something… unsure. So much history there. "I haven't been blind, my son - how affectionate the both of you are to each other." Obvious explanations such as placating Dorne did come to mind, but Rhaella knew her son. Those moments were genuine. "Everything's changed."

For the life of him, Rhaegar couldn't lie to his mother. She would see through his bullshit. "What can I say?"

"You love her." It wasn't a question.

"She's the mother of my children, my confidant… yes, I do love her." He had seen it in the past, especially of his own family. The political marriage set aside by a stronger royal in favor of a loving, lustful second relationship - be it marriage or a simple mistress. _Not everyone has the luck of grandfather, marrying only for love._ "I see the pain in her eyes, the bitterness… I blame myself." Rhaegar had tried to keep in his hurt for so long, but Rhaella was always someone he could confide in.

"You don't need to tell me more, my son." Her letters to her uncle Aemon - he had been her rock during the most painful of times, and his stories of the past had brought much knowledge to her. "You are more like my father than you realize, Rhaegar. Even in allowing a place in your heart for more than one."

Rhaegar's eyes widened, shifting from his lap to gaze at his mother. "Grandfather… loved two?"

Rhaella nodded. "It was a trying time for House Targaryen. Plagues, wars, rebellions. Lord Bloodraven kept it together, but only barely. As the youngest son of the youngest son, my father never expected to be King so he sought to marry for love… and he loved his sister. My aunt Rhae." It had been no secret, hence her and her elder sister Rhaelle's names… or why Aegon had asked her to name her son Rhaegar. "They wished to marry, but after all the plagues brought Maeker to the line of succession, he forbade it."

"Why?" While polygamous marriage was forbidden for fear of antagonizing the Faith - Daeron II choosing to alienate his half-brother rather than letting him take two wives - the Doctrine of Exceptionalism still applied to siblings.

"She was promised to another Lord. Someone who would secure our position." Rhaella sighed. "As such, he journeyed the Realm and fell in love with my mother." A chuckle escaped her lips. "But for the entire time of their marriage, Aunt Rhae was their lover."

The Prince was absolutely stunned. _How did no one know of this?_ "His search of the dragons, it was to be able to openly marry Rhae, wasn't it?"

_He doesn't need to know the other reason… not yet._ "Aye, that was my father's main goal. Tragically, his efforts killed not only himself, but also both of his loves." A tear fell down her cheek. "You, my son, have fortune on your side that he didn't. It's in our blood, don't deny it."

Luck, providence, fortune. Could his duty, as Aemon told him, be loving these two beauties? "Thank you, mother."

Smiling, Rhaella rose and kissed Rhaegar's cheek. "Just make sure Elia knows you love her independent of Lyanna. They will never let you go."

* * *

Elia looked at the she-wolf incredulously. "So wait, Arthur never left Dacey's side all night?"

A grin was planted on Lyanna's face, both of the princesses leaned forward on their loveseats - gossiping like two and ten year-old maidens. "He did, not that Dacey sees how momentous this was. All she can do is point at Ellaria and disclose that Arthur tried nothing but a hand on the small of her back rather than fall into bed like Oberyn did." There was no real secret where the Dornish Princess' night had been spent following the betrothal feast. "She's not just smitten with Ser Stuffy. I have little doubt that she's in love with him."

"What is it with you northerners?" laughed Elia, swatting at Lyanna's knee. "Diving in and shaking up matters like a blizzard? Arthur was a stoic septon before the she-bear showed up."

"And Ellaria? I'm sure her teaching Dacey the Dornish ways of seduction didn't have an effect?" Lyanna sighed. "Arthur was as stoic as a septon, while Ellaria had a much easier time of it. At least her target in Oberyn was someone not against a quick roll in the hay."

Crossing her legs, Elia glanced up at the ceiling. "Not a roll in the hay, sister." She paused for effect. "Ellaria's in love with him too… at least that's what I think." An incredulous laugh. "My lady in waiting, the woman that sampled half the cocks and cunts in the Red Keep, in love… and with my brother no less."

"Knowing his reputation, I doubt their wild ways would cease even if they tie the knot."

Blinking, Elia's jaw dropped. "Gods, you're right. That would be scandalous… right up their alley."

They were in Lyanna's chambers, sharing a glass of Dornish Apple and talking about literally everything under the sun. While Aerys and his conduct towards both of them did come up, both restricted their conversation to happy things - the wedding was in the morning… the moment where Lyanna would have her dreams come true with the man she adored since first laying eyes on him. Neither were interested in having a sullen mood prior to that momentous occasion. "Did you ever think you'd get to be here?" Lyanna suddenly asks, causing Elia to blink.

That was an… interesting question. "I'm not sure what you mean, sister?"

"We all know that I never expected this… even in spite of dreaming of something similar for years… but the Martells have married into House Targaryen before. Rhaegar has Martell blood. Did you expect it, or was it a surprise?"

"I…" There were so many competing emotions here. "I thought it a possibility… it's what my father and brother raised me for, but everyone thought Cersei Lannister would end up as Rhaegar's." The thought of the lioness having her paws on the Prince made Elia's blood boil. _Possessiveness, a sign of love._ Ironically, the inner voice sounded like a mix of her brother and Elia. "I hoped for a happy life as in the songs. That certainly was dashed rather quickly." Elia looked away, fighting a tear.

Lyanna reached over to clasp her sister-wife's hands. "I can see you two together recently, how happy he seems. Things are getting better." A small smile formed on the she-wolf's lips.

Elia shifted her gaze to the northerner. "And it truly doesn't bother you?"

"No. I trust Rhaegar to love me with all his heart alongside you, sister. Does it bother you?"

_No… yes… perhaps… I don't know…_ Most of her didn't, but the nagging view of her brother persisted - a fear for Aegon and Rhaenys. The fear from that night she had listened in. "Not since you showed your love for my children."

"Our children, as much mine as babes of my womb will be yours." It was how Rhaella described Aenys and Maegor while their father and Mother Visenya were alive, and Lyanna wanted the same. Seeing how wonderful Elia was as a mother, her children by Rhaegar would be well raised by her… and it was simply the best way to go forth. One united front.

"Our children," Elia corrected. Y_ou may love them… but your family might not say the same._ Politics had a way of ripping apart sentimentality. Something in Lyanna drew her notice, as if she was hiding something… "Lyanna. What's wrong?"

A sigh. There was no hiding it. "Connington." Elia tensed. "Rhaenys overheard something he was telling Pycelle… at least I think it was Pycelle. I think the Hand was trying to sow doubt about us, that I would take Rhaenys away from you." Her fists clenched.

Elia noticed this. Years in the Red Keep taught her to read the genuineness of emotion… and Lyanna's was genuine. _Was that what all this was about? What I heard?_ The Princess felt bad now… for misunderstanding. "There's no need to worry, Lya. I know you won't take her away from me."

_Do you?_

_Yes…_

Lyanna felt relieved a bit, but the underlying issue remained. "There's some reason he hates me… and you."

"He's in love with Rhaegar." Lyanna stared at her. "I can tell the looks. They're the same ones you give him."

"Oh… well. Rhaegar can't help him there."

"I know that… from personal experience." The two of them laughed.

Suddenly, a groan could be heard through the walls, followed by an intense creak as one section of stone slabs swung open. Elia practically jumped, while Lyanna both had her heart struck and instinctively moved ahead of her soon to be sister-wife. Facing the threat…

Only for Rhaegar to appear. "Ladies… hope I didn't frighten you."

Both trying to calm their hearts, it was Lyanna that first picked up a pillow to chuck at her beloved. "You cunt! What was that? Where did you come from?!"

"The Red Keep has tunnels created by Maegor, only accessible by the Royal Family…" Elia explained, but not before throwing a pillow herself. "But that doesn't excuse your being a cunt!" another pillow before Rhaegar strode right before them. Making them notice his simple clothes… and how handsome he looked in them. "What… what are you doing here."

He smiled. "Here." A bag was handed to them. Rifling through it, Lyanna pulled out a simple peasent's dress and clothes. Eyes questioning. "We're going out… to the city."

"You can't be serious?" Elia asked more on the practical side than her desire. "Wait… is this what you and Ser Barristan kept doing at night?" That was one mystery solved.

Lyanna would ask him about these trips by Ser Barristan. "I think he is… where are your guards?"

Rhaegar's grin widened. "None. Blackfyre is enough." He patted his sheathed sword before handing Lyanna a personal longsword. "Oh, you'll need this."

How the smirk spread on Lyanna's face made the Dornish Princess shiver.

* * *

"Oh, Bran…" A long mewl escaped her lips as Catelyn felt her betrothed's tongue snaking up the column of her neck. Shivering at how madly good it felt. "We should… stop…"

Reaching a patch of skin behind her ear, Brandon suckled it. Enjoying how the Tully girl writhed underneath him. "Why?"

Catelyn's hips bucked up as if on instinct - humping his crotch for relief. Whimpering at the strip of silk that shrouded her womanhood from his nakedness. "Because… not married…" Her mind said this was against the way of the Seven, but gods… her body wanted more.

Noticing this, Brandon chuckled. "We're betrothed." He had bedded many women. While they were generally better at the actual act, gods… seeing the prim and pious Catelyn Tully melt beneath him was amazing. "We shall be married."

"Still… not… mmmm…"

Hands grabbing the hem of the nightdress, her own wool dress having been discarded with his clothes upon the floor barely moments after he entered her chambers, Brandon rid Catelyn of her last strip of fabric. Licking his lips at the sight of pert breasts and a thatch of fire red hair at her womanhood that matched that of her head. "Kissed by fire…" he whispered deeply, attacking her breasts.

"Fu…" Even in passion, she bit back the profanity. "Bran…" Catelyn was teetering on the edge…

"Tell me to stop, Cat." He grabbed his member and tapped it against her entrance. One that only knew his touch.

The jolts through her core ended even the tiniest whimper of protest, and Catelyn bit her lip with a silent groan when Brandon pushed inside her. Feeling an explosion of pleasure that she had never before known. Wordlessly, she wrapped her legs around his hips, surrendering to him as he kissed her deeply. _How could something so wrong feel soooo good…_ Her septas had to be wrong…

Spring in his step, Brandon leaned over to kiss the beauty passed out in his bed. Catelyn shivered in her sleep, snuggling against the pillow while murmuring his name. "I will enjoy making heirs with you, sweet wife," he chuckled. Tying his scabbard on his waist and heading off to meet with Elbert Arryn for a spar before bed, he left his chambers only to stop in his tracks… "Oh, Prince Oberyn."

Smirking, the Prince of Dorne crossed his arms. "I had come minutes ago, but it seemed as if you were busy."

Brandon wasn't Ned or Lyanna, so he only grinned. "Yeah… I was preoccupied with something… or rather someone." They proceeded down the hall, Oberyn walking beside him. _Hells, he's fun to be around._

"I wouldn't have imagined Catelyn Tully to be anything less than a Septa."

Blinking, Brandon was only mildly surprised that Oberyn knew who he was bedding - most of him didn't care. "Eh, I'm sure you know what it means. Women not keeping their hands off you?"

Oberyn grinned. "Not just women." There was a slight silence. "Worried about dishonoring her?" At Brandon's quizzical look, he held up his hands. "I'm the last person who could pass sentence, but I'm simply curious."

Shrugging, Brandon clicked his tongue. "We'll be married in six months at the most. She takes moon tea. Harmless sin, and I don't even follow the Faith of the Seven. Uptight fools."

"You and I are kindred spirits, Brandon Stark." _This person is probably less of a threat than his brother._ He'd push him just a tiny bit more, gain a little certainty. "The moon is beautiful tonight… though I far prefer it at sea. Now there… you are truly able to see the expanse of the heavens."

Brandon laughed. "I envy you, Oberyn. Able to travel the world, see new places, fuck beautiful women of every color and creed… that's the life I was born to live."

A quirked eyebrow. "But you are the heir. Supreme power over the North only behind that of the King… perhaps Rhaegar would even make you Hand?" He'd peg Ned as a sooner pick than Brandon, but Oberyn wanted to see his reaction.

"Pfft…" Brandon snorted. "The North… it's fine cause the people there are wholesome, but King's Landing… I'd rather be anywhere else. Too many unctuous fools. I just hate the pretenses, the guardedness. No one is open or fun down here… like you and me."

Oberyn smiled. "Aye, Brandon, like you and me." Things were going well. "I do wish I could come here more though, to see my sister and her children."

"I wouldn't begrudge you for that, I'll be coming here a lot to see Lyanna as well." Brandon shook his head, smirking. "Rhaegar's a lucky man, two beautiful wives. I'd very much like to be in his place… only, not with my sister…"

He patted the other man's shoulder. "Oh, I understand." _Yes, not a threat at all._

* * *

Somehow, Ellaria Sand had expected her friend to show up dejected and scowling at her chamber door. "Please, enter," she managed to say as Dacey simply brushed past her, falling on the bed and burying her face in a pillow. "Make yourself at home."

"I don't know what to do, Ellaria," Dacey groaned. "Nothing is working."

The bastard lady was merely thankful that Dacey hadn't arrived half an hour before. Bed tidied, cum stains washed off with a wet cloth, and a still hard Prince Oberyn shooed out of the room. "Tell me what happened." Much as Ellaria would have loved to swoon about her insatiable new conquest in the Martell nobleman, Dacey came first.

"It was humiliating. I batted my eyelashes and presented myself in front of Ser Arthur like some roast boar and he simply escorted me to my room after a few dances. His hand on my back was the only touch I had!" She truly hated herself. Angry for letting herself fall so hard for the unattainable Sword of the Morning. "This was all a mistake."

For a moment there was silence as the more experienced woman digested the information. Ellaria began laughing, deep and throatily. "You are such a delight, Dacey. So nice, so innocent."

Dacey sat up and glared, hands on her hips. "This isn't funny."

"Yes it is." Wiping her face, Ellaria pulled her friend in for a hug. "Oh, Dacey. Calm down - everything is gonna be fine."

"How, you don't possibly know that?"

"Oh, but I do." Sitting on her knees, hands tucked into her lap, Ellaria felt like a young girl hosting friends over in her chambers - or as a teen hosting friends for… other things in her chambers. "Arthur has never coupled with a woman."

Eyes going wide, Dacey suddenly understood. "I had no idea… he seemed so calm and dashing…" Knowing this… it explained their first meeting - how tongue tied he was. "He's never had experience with a lover."

"Let me tell you something about Arthur… he's been able to keep his celibacy for so long where most other knights of the Kingsguard fail because he has an iron will. Ignorant of females that he is, he knows how to resist them." Dacey's face falling made Ellaria chuckle. "But he grew up with the Dornish - the sexiest women in the Seven Kingdoms, but he's immune. Compared to them, those other Andals are nothing." She waved her hand dismissively, "But the wild beauty of a Northerner… earthy and powerful…" Ellaria clicked her tongue. "Know how to use it properly and you'll have him in the palm of your hand."

Gulping, Dacey imagined it. She couldn't picture any lover besides Arthur Dayne, giving her first to anybody but the enigmatic Sword of the Morning. The she-bear finally know how Lyanna must have felt during her courtship with Rhaegar… deeply enchanted. "Tell me what I must do."

A wide grin broke out on Ellaria's face. Satisfied… dangerous. "First," she clasped her head on each side. "You must look him in the eye. Love comes in at the eyes."

Love comes in at the eyes. Dacey nodded. "What else?"

"Always keep your hands on him. Hands or lips." The blush on Dacey's face was just too adorable. _She definitely needs a good fuck._ "Tell me, have you ever touched anyone before… in any manner?"

"Umm…" It was dreadfully embarrassing - the northern convention did infect Dacey in some manner. "A few guards… stableboys…"

Ellaria rolled her eyes. "Pish. Servants are easy. Touch them the right way and they'll finish right where they stand."

"Finish?" Dacey inquired. At Ellaria's knowing look, she blushed again. "Oh."

"Relax, Dacey." She placed a comforting squeeze on her shoulder. "You're going for a mighty knight, so your touches and kisses will have to be…" Ellaria's voice dropped. "Powerful… seductive…" Her hands drifted down Dacey's arms, leaning to just above the ear. "Overpowering…"

Suddenly, Dacey found herself flipped over. Pinned to the bed. "Uh, Ellaria…" She was silenced when her friend kissed her full on the lips. Tongue entering at her gasp. "Whoa, what?" she managed to sputter when the fellow Lady in Waiting pulled back. "Why did you do that?" More shock than anger.

Still pinning her hands, Ellaria's eyes danced with mirth. "You're wound tightly, Dacey. Not knowing," she said, leaning down to kiss along the Northern beauty's neck. "Just how to let go. To enjoy your body… you don't know just how sensitive your body is." Slowly, Ellaria began to work at the laces of Dacey's nightshirt. An expert for both smallfolk and noble ladies alike. "You must know all before you seek to seduce the mighty Arthur Dayne.

"I…" Dacey may be damned to the seven hells by the Faith for this, but damn if it didn't feel amazing. No deeper feelings other than lust, but Ellaria amplified the latter, playing Dacey like a fiddle. "But… we're friends…"

Ellaria kissed her again. "Shhh… I don't expect this to last longer than tonight." The Dornishwoman peeled off her own thin nightgown. "Just learn, and enjoy." A hiss escaped her lips when their bare skin met - friend as Dacey was, gods knew how much Ellaria wanted her from the beginning… at least only once. "When you are Ser Arthur's Lady, only thank me."

"Mmmmm… alright." Allowing herself to surrender, Dacey pictured that wonderful image as she started to learn more about her body than she had ever thought possible.

* * *

"'At'll be five stars, please," said the jolly street vendor, smiling as the coins clinked on the wooden counter of his cart. "'Une moment, ladies." He moved to the smoking portable oven in which the rounded pies cooked to a juicy warmth.

Rocking up and down on the balls of her feet, Elia fidgeted with the blue roundel at the end of her new necklace not for the first time that night. "I have to say it again, Lya. This is beautiful."

Paying two gold dragons for it, Lyanna felt that it had been her that got their coin's worth. "You deserve it, sister. And I have to admit that the bounty of the North compliments you."

"What is the stone called?" It was surrounded by six gold chains hooked to the silver band, nestling the sphere tightly.

"It's called kaskagos. Only found in the north and in some places in the Vale." She patted the pouch in her cloak, gift secure within. "Had to find some way to repay you." A needle-like knife in the Dornish style. Lyanna had almost squealed when Elia dropped it in her hands. Her woollen cloak made as perfect a place to hide it as it did the sword Rhaegar gave her. Perfect to skewer any being that threatened her… and yet no one did. _It's safer here than in the Red Keep._

The Dornish Princess in hiding grinned. "Had to give you something for your wedding… and what does Lady Lyanna like more than…" It really meant more than that, as did her gift, but neither of them were able to realize it at that time. Something caught her eyes.

"And 'ere ya' go." Plopping two steaming pies on the counter, the vendor beamed on his chubby face. "Enjoy, though I'd 'ike em spoons back."

Picking up her pie, Lyanna dug the spoon in and drew out a healthy helping of chicken, carrots, and cheese. Searing hot, but her tongue exploded nonetheless. "Gods… this is good." Only Old Nan's kidney pies were better.

"You're right sister… it is good." Elia was scarfing hers down, not caring about propriety. "Have you considered opening a store?" she asked the vendor.

"Maybe, 'after I's get a wife and babe, 'abably." He laughed. "Tell yer' friends bout me. Ot Pie's pies." His belly jostled as he laughed harder.

"Will do… mmmm…"

The marketplace was bustling with people even as the large and bright moon was high in the sky. Shopkeepers and merchants plying their wares, vendors offering all kinds of food - sausages, syrup-glazed fruit, freshly baked breads and pastries, and juicy pies to name a few - and the dozens of minstrels, jugglers, and other entertainers… the intense night life drew those from all over the city. A cross-section of Westeros as was possible - both Princesses could understand why Rhaegar would enjoy coming here. Strolling around while he had 'a surprise' to take care of, they felt more alive than any time in years.

Licking her fingers clean of the bits of grease and flakes of crust, Lyanna looked up to find a small crowd gathering around one of the many fountains dotting the marketplace. "What's that?" It seemed as if dozens of people were flocking towards the commotion, almost all of them clad in the outfits of poor laborers or simple tradesmen.

Herself curious, Elia shrugged. "Who knows?" First instinct leaned her towards a street minstrel - there were several in the marketplace, often in troupes, competing with each other for the coin and attention of the hustle and bustle within the marketplace. However, none seemed to be as popular as the crowd that gathered around this hypothetical minstrel. _He could be a quite skilled musician._ "Perhaps..."

Sensing the look in Elia's eyes, Lyanna pieced the train of thought together. "You don't think…?" Now this was interesting. "Let's see if you're right, sister."

Both thin and quick on their feet, the two beauties managed to shimmy and wheedle their way through the milling crowd. The smell of unwashed bodies made their noses curl in distaste. Yet, neither cared. People were jovial, laughing and japing with each other. Children racing about with homemade toys or none at all. An earnestness about them that was absent in most highborns, the Princesses feeling more at ease among the former

And plenty gushed about the particular minstrel. "Thought I 'econized 'im."

"E's 'een gone a'hile."

"'Ank 'de gods ee's back."

"He's so handsome." The latter came from a young girl. No older than three and ten by the looks of her.

"Always keeps his head under the cloak," replied a companion.

Lyanna grabbed Elia's hand, leading the hidden Princess forward through the final line of people - finding a hooded figure sitting on the lip of the fountain. Face hidden… but both Princesses knew it was him. Knowing that toned, brooding form anywhere.

"Did you know he did this?" Lyanna's beloved, sneaking out into the city to simply play his harp and sing to the smallfolk? _Gods, Rhaegar. I love you._ He just couldn't stop being the perfect man. Strong yet caring. Gentle yet protective. She wanted to rush out to hug him, but was unable to root herself from her perch at the front of the throng of people.

"He never told me… but now certain things make sense." Sometimes he and Ser Barristan would disappear, unable for her to find them. Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell would keep her from Rhaegar's personal chambers - apparently both had snuck out of the Red Keep.

"Our man is breathtaking," Lyanna breathed.

"That he is." At that moment he stood up, hair still masked by the cowl but his face coming into view. Smiling softly until those violet eyes - glowing under the torchlight of the market - came in contact with the two women. Elia saw his expression change from surprise to an almost warm glow. She shivered with delight at her husband's attention.

Unwilling to make either Elia or Lyanna wait any further, Rhaegar cleared his throat. "Thank you for coming tonight, listening to me…"

"Sing the Bear and the Maiden Fair!" came one request from the crowd. Lyanna wished to ask him to play Jenny of Oldstones, but that song was for them and them alone.

"The Dornishman's Wife!" was another, words slurred by the clearly drunken man.

Rhaegar nodded at that. "Tempting, tempting," he announced with a grin, eyes boring in on his wife. Elia blushed and shot her husband a cross look. Lyanna giggled in her joy. Reminded that the particular song was a bawdy one. _Cheeky bastard…_

The crowd kept calling out requests. "Flowers of Spring, Jon!" came the call of the young girl from earlier.

_Jon?_ "Is that his name?" Lyanna asked.

"Aye, Jon Snow of the North. The Seven gave him his voice."

Lyanna's head shifted to Rhaegar in surprise. _Jon Snow of the north… by the old gods and new, I'll kill him._ Apparently the Crown Prince had hidden his identity as a northern bastard lost in King's Landing…

"Almost meant to be, if you think about it," Elia whispered into her ear.

"I love that man so much." Her sister-wife was right… they were meant to be long before they even met.

Watching Lyanna smile so adoringly, Rhaegar knew just the song. "Prince Rhaegar is getting married on the morrow." There were cheers at his name. "Therefore, I shall dedicate this song to his beautiful wives." He could swear both women swooned.

Fingers strummed at the harp. All noise stilled, drawn to the beautiful music made by the hidden dragon. Haunting, yet almost an intensity about it.

_"Search for the glory I knew all along,_

_"I face the flames, thy touch on my hand,_

_"Alone facing our final dawn,_

_"Alone I stand a complete man."_

Elia recognized the song. Dance of Dragons, one about a pair of lovers dying in each other's arms during the Doom of Valyria. Normally, it was played by a troupe of minstrels… but Rhaegar's voice was so hauntingly beautiful that no one noticed.

_"All I have is one last chance,_

_"I won't turn my back on you,_

_"Take my hand, they'll drag me down,_

_"If you burn then I will too,_

_"And I will meet the flames with you."_

There wasn't even a sound from the crowd, people lured from the rest of the market by the stunning chords of the harp. Rhaegar's voice so beautiful that even the gods had to be listening.

_"Our love burns anew,_

_"There is nothing left,_

_"I can't face the doom without you,_

_"There's nothing left to lose,_

_"Our fight finally ends,_

_"I can't face the doom without you."_

_"Embrace me tight until I hurt,_

_"I understand there's nothing left,_

_"Pain so close to the heart,_

_"Lest eternity forgets."_

Rhaegar watched as the crowd stilled, enchanted by his voice, occasionally one darting forward to drop a coin into a small sack by the fountain. He closed his eyes, letting his fingers pluck the notes on pure instinct.

_"Our love burns anew,_

_"There is nothing left,_

_"I can't face the doom without you,_

_"There's nothing left to lose,_

_"Our fight finally ends,_

_"I can't face the doom without you."_

He found the figures of both his wife and his betrothed. Dressed as simple smallfolk maidens but just as beautiful. Oh how he loved them. Lyanna, the wild direwolf that filled the hole in his heart. And Elia… at that moment he understood what his grandfather must have felt, the dragonblood in him pulsing with enough love for two. There was still much to repair, but the Prince was sure of what wanted.

Preparing the last of the song, he stared at the both of them. Lyrics tragic, but his expression telling both of them that such tragedy would never touch their marriage if he had anything to say about it.

_"Gods be kind,_

_"Gods grant us grace,_

_"Don't leave me ever again,_

_"I'm with you forever, the end._

Tears coated the cheeks of the onlookers, even the most salty character. Men closing their eyes as they were moved by the powerful words, women of all ages melting from the angelic lilt of Rhaegar's voice. Hands still intertwined, Elia felt Lyanna reaching over, seeking to lock together their free hands. Unable not to tremble as their beloved serenaded them. For as he walked about, his sparkling purple eyes never left them.

_"Our love burns anew,_

_"There is nothing left,_

_"I can't face the doom without you,_

_"There's nothing left to lose,_

_"Our fight finally ends,_

_"I can't face the doom without you."_

There was a silence just as the song ended. Hanging over the market like a baited breath… it ended abruptly as hundreds began clapping. Whistling their admiration of the mysterious minstrel of the North named Jon Snow. Dozens came to drop coins in the sack. Bronze stars and silver stags… even a gold dragon every now and again from a well dressed merchant.

Lyanna wiped the tears from her face. "That was even more beautiful than when I heard him first."

"Rhaegar…" whispered Elia, ever mindful in spite of her heart fluttering from his voice. "Whenever he sang, I forgot my pain." She started to sob. "I… I never told him… how much it always meant to me…" Her sister-wife pulled her into an embrace - gods help her, Lyanna's arms were just as comforting as Rhaegar's.

When they pulled apart, he was gone. Crowd starting to disband and go about their business. Lyanna kissed Elia's cheek and tugged at her hand. "He shouldn't have gone far."

They found him in an alley, hidden from the view of the market. Seated upon the stoop of a dark shop waiting for them. At seeing them, Rhaegar smiled and stood. "My loves…" He staggered back when both of them practically charged into his arms. Almost knocking him down with a tight embrace. Lyanna was the lucky one to reach his lips first, kissing him deeply. Rhaegar had barely any time to breathe when they broke apart before Elia sought him out. Her subtle Dornish fragrance oh so different from the wild, piney scent of his northern beauty, but in no way less pleasant to him. "I take it you liked."

Pulling back to stare into his eyes, Elia felt the same spark between them as they shared during their wedding. Before the hope had died… "You were amazing, my Prince." Now, it was slowly resurrecting.

Lyanna couldn't stop kissing his cheek. "Love you. Love you… gods, I love you." Both simply felt giddy, two maidens swooning over the man they loved. "I can't believe you're a simple bard."

Rhaegar shrugged, slightly embarrassed - leading to more kisses from the ladies. "Aunt Jenny got me started on it. My father hated when I played in the Red Keep, so she would disguise me and we'd play for the smallfolk. After she died… Barristan came with me." He pointed to the sack of coins. "I only wanted to practice my music - the coin would go to charities across the city."

"Charity… wait. You're the bard at the orphanage!" Elia grinned, finally figuring it out. "I should have known. Matron Seaworth has high praise for you." She leaned in to kiss him deeply.

Rhaegar chuckled against her lips. "Honestly, this was the largest haul I've ever managed to get for them." He reached his hands out to wrap around their waists. "The two of you inspire me."

Kissing his neck simultaneously, Lyanna finally remembered something. She pulled back, lips crooked in curiosity. "Jon Snow?"

He blushed a deep red. "Oh, Lyanna. No."

While utterly adorable, Lyanna didn't let up on the pressure. "A northern bastard name, Rhaegar? I need to know."

A plea to Elia, all three still locked in an embrace, went nowhere. "I want to know this too." Her accent added an extra emphasis. "Tell us, husband."

Rhaegar closed his eyes, sighing hard. "Needed to keep myself hidden, yet also exotic… Valyrian features aren't common here." Having decided on it years ago, before even Elia, the memories were foggy. "I can't explain it… the name just called to me. As if someone with that name was important in some way…"

A finger on his lips cut him off. "Rhaegar…" Lyanna's eyes glistened with happy tears. Allowing the full weight of the song and how perfect he was to return. "You are mine… ours… I love you so much." Unable to say the words, Elia only nodded in agreement. Both women resumed the tight hug.

Smiling widely, Lyanna leaned into his shoulder. Letting the sweet, generous man she was to marry on the morn make her feel all the love in the world. _Is there truly any better?_ Kind Marya Seaworth recognized them immediately, but luckily she merely winked at them knowingly, the only one besides her, Elia, and the Kingsguards who knew of Rhaegar's charity. Just how amazing he was. _That he does it with no public praise only makes him more perfect._ Finding it so easy to be affectionate with the man she loved… with no audience but Elia, who by this time tomorrow would be her sister-wife. Never did she think she'd be living out her childhood fantasies, but here she was.

Only Lyanna's mind was whirring. _Jon…_ The name called to her too. _Jon… Prince Jon… Prince Jon Targaryen…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we have the origin of Jon's name :D Seems poetic, doesn't it?
> 
> Yep, a little change in backstory... I mean why not? It could have happened. Gonna have ramifications down the line, though.
> 
> Oberyn being Oberyn and Ellaria being Ellaria ;)
> 
> Dance of Dragons is adapted from Without You by Breaking Benjamins.
> 
> Next up, part one of the wedding! If I can get 35 reviews, I'll post Tuesday.


	23. Royal Wedding Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, wedding part one!
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

"Agh," Rhaegar hissed, feeling a bit of hair caught in the buckle of his chestplate. "Careful there."

"If you could stand still, I wouldn't be yanking on your hair, you royal dolt," Elia shot back, biting her lip in concentration as she put the finishing touches on the ceremonial set of armor that would clad Rhaegar during the ceremony at the Great Sept. Lighter and more flamboyant than on the battlefield, without plate gloves and topped off with a blood red cloak. "Besides, this is quite distracting."

Nestled alone in the Prince's chambers, the couple enjoyed a quiet moment of affection. One they hadn't truly shared in a while. _My fault,_ Rhaegar thought bitterly. But he wouldn't bring Elia down into melancholy, especially today. "And how is it distracting."

She huffed. "You men, dressing in armor all the time." The strap was pulled through the buckle and affixed to the loop. Elia moved to the second. "Knowing what it does to women between their legs yet always so hard to take off when you decide to ease our discomfort." Finishing the second loop, Elia swatted him lightly. "Men."

"By that logic, it's safe to assume that I am causing discomfort between your legs," he replied, grinning.

Elia's swat was harder this time, yet she smirked. "Cheeky cunt." But she knew he was right. _Gods… this man…_ The dam was bursting, Elia allowing herself feelings long kept under wraps. They were opening up gradually, but it just felt so right. _We're going to be hurt eventually…_ No. She wouldn't sabotage this before it even truly started. "There, all done." Facing him, Elia hugged his chest.

Rhaegar returned the embrace. "You are the perfect wife, my dear Princess."

"And yet you see fit to get another," she teased.

"Doesn't change what I feel for you."

Pulling back, Elia peered up at him. The moment changing from light to heavy. "And what do you feel for me, my Prince?" Her expression was half lust, half guarded curiosity.

Before he could answer, a tropical cyclone burst into the room. "_Muna! Kepa!"_ Each had to brace themselves as Rhaenys slammed into their legs, jumping up and down. "Wedding here! Wedding here! Take me! Take me!"

There was no chance either royal couldn't be charmed by their sweetling of a daughter. "Oh my love." Elia leaned down to kiss her forehead. "You'll have to stay here at the Red Keep."

Rhaenys pouted, as if being denied admittance to the wedding was akin to killing her entire family. "But I wanna see _muna_ and _kepa_ get mawwied, _muna."_

Laughing, Rhaegar hefted his daughter in his arms. The Princess' mood changing immediately with a flurry of giggles as her father kissed her face repeatedly. "Relax, little dragon. You'd rather not be somewhere that boring. Just a lot of talking and talking and standing still…"

"Ewwww… that bowing, kepa." Elia laughed merrily, wrapping an arm around her husband's waist. He knew just the right thing to say to their daughter. _He's such a good man._ A man any woman was lucky to have as a husband.

"Told ya, my sweet sweet girl." He held her close. "_Muna_ loves you and I love her. We'll have plenty of time to spend together at Dragonstone together. All five of us."

"Fwive? _Muna_ too?"

Such babble of a toddler, Rhaegar instinctively knew it. "Yes." A strong arm pulled Elia in too. "_Muna_ will be there too. Both your _Munas_ are precious to me." Pressing a kiss to Elia's lips and earning a look of disgust from their daughter, Elia blushed. Looking away, wishing that the moistness between her legs would go away before the ceremony.

_Gods… I do love him._

In another part of the Red Keep, Lord Rickard Stark was having trouble with the more mundane tasks of a household. "Father, I see you tie knots in the Winterfell courtyard. How is it you can't braid hair."

"Well…" He cursed under his breath at his third failure. "When your late mother handled it for you… and then Nan handled it for you, I didn't have much incentive to learn such a skill now did I?"

"Yet you can put your hair in a bun?" Lyanna was having fun flustering her father.

"That's different. Simpler, not…"

"Woman's work, father?"

Rickard stomped his foot in frustration after his fourth attempt immolated. "Gods…" he let out an exhale. "Lady Dacey, can you assist me?"

Head up, Dacey shook her head. "Apologies, my Lord. I'm preoccupied with a pressing matter." Her 'pressing matter' turned out to be tossing silver stags into an empty chamber pot several yards away.

Unable to keep in her giggles, Lyanna forgot her nerves. "Dacey, please finish my braids."

The Mormont warrior turned lady in waiting stood, taking the place of her Liege Lord at the Princess' hair. "I'll fix this up quickly. Wouldn't want you to be late at your own wedding, Lya."

"My wedding…" It still didn't cease to amaze Lyanna. That she was finally getting married… to her Prince Daemon. All of her strength was deployed so that she wouldn't scream in glee at the fact. "Father, are you alright?"

Rickard wiped away a tear, trying his best to remain composed. "You… you look exactly like your mother on her wedding day." The Starks weren't the most sentimental of people, but sometimes there wasn't a chance to be anything otherwise. Seeing Dacey had finished in a minute what he had taken thirty to fail, Rickard moved towards a box resting on the table beside his bed. "I have something for you, one from your mother and one from me."

Furrowing her brows, Lyanna gasped when he took out a crown of winter roses. As beautiful as the one Rhaegar had crowned her at the tourney. "Is that…?"

"Aye, this is my contribution to your wedding… besides giving you away that is." He gently placed it atop her braids, making what was already a beautiful bride radiant. "You're already known as the Winter Rose of Winterfell. Why not become what you're called?"

Lyanna wiped away a tear of her own. "Oh, father…"

But Rickard wasn't done. Out of his pocket, he took out a silver pin. Melded into a direwolf… the sigil of their house. "My mother gave this to your mother when she was to marry me, and now I give this to you." He tucked it into her gown, patting it lovingly. "Today, you pass into House Targaryen, but you will always be of the North." Beaming, Lyanna threw her arms around her father, hugging him close.

* * *

The bells chimed a total of three times - twin rings per yank of the rope atop the seven belltowers, the Great Sept of Baelor heralding a massive crowd of cheering smallfolk outside the commencement of the wedding of Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and his she-wolf Lyanna Stark. A second bride, but such fact ignored by all but the most highly devout of the city. Everywhere else, the tale of the daughter of winter riding across the dregs of King's Landing with the sun of Dorne with coin for the poor and hugs for the children brought out the adoration of the crowd. Flowers lining the avenue to Aegon's High Hill as they roared their love for both Princesses and the Prince that held their affections.

Inside, the coffered dome overlooked the hundreds of guests, separated into four squares around the great seven-pointed star. The iconography was everywhere, especially right before the altar in casting a mighty burst of afternoon sunlight streaming into the well. It irritated many of the northerners, but they put up with it. It was a long way from Winterfell after all. The High Septon huffed, wiping a sheen of sweat from his face from the heat of his corpulent frame. Standing close to him, the Crown Prince's armor clinked as he wiped the same sheen from his forehead… albeit for different reasons.

A feminine pair of lips curved crossly. "Calm down, husband," Elia whispered, ever so slightly leaning towards Rhaegar. "If you tap your foot any harder, you'll break the stone."

Suddenly noticing his nervous tic atop the marble floor, Rhaegar stilled his foot, crossing his arms over his ceremonial armor. "Forgive me."

Elia giggled softly. "There's no need to be nervous, love." Voice low so that neither the King nor the fat septon would hear her, she quickly kissed his cheek. Seeing him relax. "She's going to show up." If one had asked her two moons before if she'd be both standing there… and alright with standing there, Elia would have laughed. Lyanna Stark… she was a winter's gale - upending everything. "Just as I did."

Turning to her, Rhaegar's nerves melted in the face of her brown eyes simply looking upon him. "Aye, I know." Records of the wedding of Aegon the Conqueror lost to history during the Dance of the Dragons, the only precedent for multiple marriages - that didn't have the bad omens of the Black Brides - in had been the second and third weddings of King Maegor. The small council had studied records of his third with Queen Tyanna, especially in relation to Alys Harroway. As such, Elia was present right at the groom's side. "Thank you, for being here."

She smiled widely. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." She would stay there until the ceremony in which she would wait on the last step before the altar, wearing the red and black wedding cloak of House Targaryen, emblazoned with its sigil. "I…" _I love you._ Somehow, it died on her tongue.

He took her in, noticing the burnt orange gown of Dorne underneath. Gossamer, giving a hint of the exotic olive skin. Her chest and waist hidden by a colorfully etched red sun. A simple act of defiance from the Princess of Dragonstone, one that made Rhaegar burn with desire. I love you. But as with her, the Crown Prince whiffed. Simply waiting for the ceremony to begin.

Rhaegar's breath left him when the Kingsguards opened the golden doors, revealing his bride to the entire gathering. _Dear Balerion above…_ Hand looped in the crook of her father's arm, Lyanna was the picture of divine beauty - a goddess of ice presented to join with his fire that day. Their eyes met in that moment, and he saw the grey sparkle with love and affection from even that distance.

Making her way onto the floor of the sept, her dress sparkled in the sunlight as onlookers bowed and curtseyed lightly. Breaking from a traditional color of cream, it was instead an ice blue, piercing and vibrant as her personality. Dark blue swirls marked blizzards of snow that sent a chill through most - but the daughter of winter wore her arms bare in showing off the toned muscles of an expert rider and fighter… though only Rhaegar and the Starks knew just how well. Simple braids of her chestnut hair were topped with the trademark crown of winter roses. _She is so beautiful…_

The two Starks reached the van of the gathered nobles, where the line of royals waited to watch the proceedings. Rhaella greeted her future gooddaughter with a gentle embrace, while Viserys peered at her sweetly. Aerys, for his part, curtly nodded when she curtseyed deeply for him. Both Ned and Brandon hugged their sister tightly - Catelyn Tully smiling at her from beside Brandon. The last time where they would greet Lyanna as a Stark - the white and grey cloak about her shoulders bearing the Direwolf sigil would soon be replaced to match what Elia wore.

Three heads, like the dragon of House Targaryen.

Rickard kissed Lyanna on the forehead, allowing her to ascend the steps. Releasing her from his house to her husband's. As with the wedding of Maegor and Tyanna, Elia embraced her soon to be sister-wife and kissed each cheek. Their hands clasping together for but a moment - both pulling away with a tingle. The moment was over quickly, but leaving Elia in a slight daze, butterflies in her stomach, as she stepped to her place. _It's their day, relax._

Absent a veil, now that she was before him Rhaegar was delighted to see her face bare to him. To be able and gaze unobstructed at her beautiful eyes and loving smile. Lyanna overjoyed to see his silver hair and strong jaw - wishing she could reach out and kiss him right there. Surrounded by the massive statues of the Seven and the hundreds of noble guests, the only ones either cared about in that moment was each other.

Clearing his puffy throat, the High Septon began. "Your Graces, Lords and Ladies. The ceremony before the sight of their most Holy Seven shall begin." Turning to Rhaegar with ruddy eyes, he gestured to the large folds of cloth draped over a stand to his left. "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

Wordlessly, Lyanna turned, shivering with delight as Rhaegar's strong fingers gingerly removed the direwolf cloak from her shoulders. Much as she loved the House of her birth, there was no stopping her from the exact dream of her childhood coming true. Glancing at Elia, the Princess understood exactly what she was thinking.

Rhaegar folded the cloak with reverence, ensuring the direwolf was proudly displayed on the top when he set it down - the Northerners in the hall nodded and whispered their respect, while Aerys simply snorted. _Weak boy._ Trying to ignore Tywin's presence so as not to give the upstart kitty cat any satisfaction. Eyes trained upon his son as he took the Targaryen cloak and draped it upon Lyanna's shoulders, hand running down her bare arm. It was official. Lyanna Stark was now under the protection of House Targaryen.

"My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." Having run through the step long before, the couple joined hands - a warmth coursing through them - as they stood side by side. The septon produced a ribbon and tied a knot around their joined hands, symbolizing the union of Lady Lyanna into the family of Rhaegar Targaryen. "Let it be known that Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen and Lady Lyanna of House Stark are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."

Ned watched them with a smile. _Way to go little sister._ Flickering to how Catelyn clasped Brandon's hand with hers, the younger Stark son felt a loneliness about him. Wishing for his own lady to be beside him

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity." Words that caused both Rhaegar and Lyanna - as well as Elia, all three feeling a sudden connection - to silently sigh with joy.

In the rear of the assemblage, underneath the judgemental statue of the Crone, Cersei had a sigh of her own. Joining her father, brother, and uncle in trying to avoid the King's attention, the emptiness in her soul was unable to escape. Needing something to fill the void, but all options out of reach.

"Look upon each other and say the words."

Robert's hands clenched in a sullen fury. It was he that was supposed to be up there. _I'm gonna have to get good and drunk tonight._ Wine and mead would be the only weapon he had to fight off his urge to throttle the dragonspawn.

Turning at the High Septon's command, Lyanna basked in the sparkle of Rhaegar's white teeth bared in a brilliant smile. Eyes a vibrant violet from the love and emotion swirling within him. Her own mind in a sort of trance, she couldn't believe that the gods were actually granting her wish. That she could bear her heart and soul completely to the same man that she had dreamed of for so long. A man far better than she could ever imagine in a dream.

Standing beside the statue of the Mother, Jaime Lannister prayed without hope that one day his dreams would be answered. To grant the same enchantment to the women he so boundlessly loved.

Rhaegar and Lyanna spoke simultaneously. "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger..."

"I am hers…"

"I am his…"

"And she is mine…"

"And he is mine…"

Almost swooning, Rhaella allowed herself to be swallowed by her son's happiness. Knowing the only way she would see such adoration was from afar. Vicariously through her beloved children.

"From this day, until the end of my days." No truer words could ever be spoken. A marriage built on unconditional love. Forged in the same tradition as Aegon the Conqueror, his sword strapped to Rhaegar's side and the spirit of him and his Queens dwelling in all three. No force by man or god could break them apart. Elia could feel it too, a bittersweet moment, knowing that it would be Lyanna her husband bedded tonight - and Rhaegar her sister-wife would bed. Somehow, both thoughts sullied her happiness equally.

Rhaegar began his favorite words of the ceremony. "With this kiss, I pledge my love." Cupping her cheek, locking their gazes, both groom and bride surged forth and crashed their lips together. Uncaring of the onlookers, the passion of the dragon and wolf unavoidable in its intensity.

As the Lords and Ladies clapped, applause thundering underneath the cavernous dome, Aerys scowled. Love, pfft. Love was for the weak.

He had a lot more work to do.

* * *

It was said that Northerners made for quite a party. Boisterous, not tethered to social conventions of the Andal knights, once the fiddlers invited by the newly christened Princess of Dragonstone put their bows to the strings all bets were off. And judging from the laughs and smiles from the other Lords, it was quite infectious. Many wished to celebrate the newest member of House Targaryen.

Eyes trained on the table holding the groom and brides, Ned gingerly sipped on his ale - a stout northern lager imported from White Harbor. The three were huddled together after House Velaryon offered their fealty, Elia leaning left nearly on top of Rhaegar to tell a story. Both newlyweds listening intently before bursting into a merry laughter - Lyanna swatting Elia's hand while Rhaegar kissed her chastely, arm around the bride. _Can't argue there… that's a happy family._ Much as the septons would lambast it, the First Men of antiquity hadn't begrudged polygamy… or incest for that matter. _My sister is happy, that's all that matters._

Certainly more than his own happiness, considering how alone he was.

"Ned, mi'boy!" Meaty hand slamming into his back, Ned struggled not to choke down his ale when Robert plopped next to him. Horn of strong-smelling liquor in his other hand. "Yer sittin' alone like a woman bleedin'. Join the fun!"

Wiping the froth from his lips, Ned made a quick look to the royal table. Finding Lyanna raising an eyebrow for a split second before turning away - not wanting to see Robert more than necessary. _Good thing I chose a seat far away._ "Didn't think you'd be welcome here, Robert?" They did patch things up to an extent, though without the filial intimacy of before. But Rhaegar and the Princesses were another matter.

Robert waved him off. "Gotta represent my Kingdom as it's Lord Paramount." He snorted, taking another swig. "Connington a fart-length ride from Storm's End. He can handle it… or Stannis. He's boring enough to beg for the pass-out conversations." Smirking, he wrapped an arm around his non-blood brother. "That reminds me of a proposition for ya."

"What would that be, Robert?"

"Got plans after this? On what yer' gonna do?"

That took some thought. "Depends on what my father requests… otherwise I have no idea." He could go back to the Vale, or stay here with his family… or go to Casterly Rock and beg Tywin Lannister for… _Best to forget that._

But Robert's statement surprised him. "Come down to Storm's End with me. Help me put it to rights." He lightly poked him in the stomach. "Stannis has a stick up his ass and Renly… well… he'd be Lady Renly if he rules." He laughed boisterously. "It'll be like the good old days… Let's make sure they don't fuck up my father's legacy."

Ned smiled softly at that. "While I do remember fondly our time together, I must decline." Robert's face fell. "It is my duty to my house to do what is best for it… and the North."

"Oh Ned, so honorable." Robert giggled at that. "Duty is like moderation. Keeps ya' goin' for a while, but damned if you're not fuckin' miserable the entire time."

_Tell that to Mya and gods knows how many more bastards that I don't know of._ But he didn't say that. "I can't see myself in a life of adventure, Robert." Ned knew what life he did want, gaze falling on a flash of blonde hair among the Westermen.

"Every son of a bitch makes their mark on the world. Already made mine." Not that Ned would think it was to be proud of.

Ned sighed. "I already did Robert"

"Oh, how?"

"I think I found my lady." It just slipped out.

"Yer' shittin' me!" Robert smacked him on the back. "Good luck to you, Ned! I look forward to the wedding."

Much as he and Robert had already drifted apart so much, the man's pep talks did fill him with confidence. "And I would invite you… if I can get her hand." He finished off his ale and stood, ignoring a motivational comment about a proper bride's tits from the Lord of Storm's End.

"It shall be the happiest day of my life when we are finally family, your Grace."

Rhaegar nodded at the beautiful redhead. "I am sure my goodbrother is also counting down the days."

Catelyn Tully sighed softly, swooning. "I know he does."

"As am I your Grace, Princesses." Hoster Tully had the same expression as his daughter - the two were a lot alike. "Our grand alliance between the great houses of Westeros is the highest honor, and the Prince of Dragonstone is welcome to the hospitality of Riverrun whenever they wish."

Forcing a congenial smile in spite of her dislike for House Tully, Elia nodded with her husband and sister-wife. "Your kind words are greatly appreciated by all of us, and on behalf of myself, the Prince, and the Princess Lyanna, we accept and shall take your invitation to Riverrun under advisement. It would be our honor to be guests of such a noble and ancient House." It left a sour taste in her mouth, but politics was politics.

Both bowing, Lord Hoster and Lady Catelyn left the dias, the former towards a cluster of his noble bannermen and the latter towards her betrothed - Brandon yanking her to him and tugging her towards the dance floor. The Dornishwoman raised an eyebrow at her sister-wife, who shrugged and laughed. Dipping into his cups, the heir to Winterfell was even more boisterous than his charming personality predisposed him to.

Out of the corner of their eyes, someone else began to walk up to their table. Giggling banter between the three royals waned as the figure approached. One whose presence had a sort of aura surrounding her. The music even seemed to dim as almost a third of the guests glanced in the direction of the table. "My Prince... my Princesses." The woman before them curtsied at the three of them, voice different and smokey. Dripping with innuendo and a hint of seduction.

The woman was beautiful, that much the Prince and Princesses could see. Skin pale as alabaster, dark crimson hair styled in an elaborate braid and equally red eyes piercing through a person's soul. Completing the domination of the color was a form-fitting red dress that left little to the imagination, topped by a red-gold choker inlaid with a ruby round her neck. Rhaegar blinked. "Greetings, Lady..."

"Melisandre. Melisandre of Asshai." She spread her arms in a conciliatory gesture. "As the designated representative of the Temple of R'hllor in Volantis, I congratulate you on your marriage vows, Prince Rhaegar and Princess Lyanna." The piercing red shifted to Elia. "And to you as well, Princess, bound here under the laws most ancient."

Peeking at her sister-wife, Lyanna's gaze met hers and they both shivered involuntarily at the implication of the words - unknowing whether it was genuine or manipulated by this woman. A Red Priestess from the Shadowlands… a religion and race known to dabble in dark magic. "Thank you very much, Lady Melisandre," Lyanna declared politely. "That is very kind of you."

"Excuse me, but why is a representative of the Red Temple here?" In all her life, Elia hadn't ever seen the Faith of R'hllor take an active interest in Westerosi affairs. There were some in King's Landing and Dorne, but those were mostly missionaries.

"His Grace personally requested the aid of the one true faith for pressing matter, Princess," Melisandre responded quickly, her gaze flickering between each of the royals. Expression serene. "The Red Temple sent me to answer his request.

Rhaegar exchanged glances with his wives. Outwardly neutral but both sensing his worry. "And what assistance would my father, the King, wish from the Red Temple?" he asked.

"I cannot say," Melisandre smiled cryptically, "But I would have come regardless."

Lyanna could sense it. There was something… off about Melisandre. The tone reeked of someone who was used to manipulating those to her will… or the will of her god as she saw it - but also seemed sincere, strange as it seemed. "Well, we welcome you to westeros, Lady Melisandre and hope you can help his Grace for whatever he wishes." The latter was a lie, but Lyanna hoped it would end the conversation.

However, she didn't leave, instead staring at all three of them. Red eyes seemingly glowing. It was disconcerting. "Um... is something wrong, Lady melisandre?" asked a curious Rhaegar. Subtly, Lyanna motioned to Ser Barristan just in case, who placed a hand on the hilt of his sword.

"The fire was right, Prince Rhaegar. He never lies..."

Elia had heard the stories of the Red Priests seeing visions in fire, so she wasn't as bewildered as her spouses. "What does the fire tells you?" Both Rhaegar and Lyanna looked at her as if she spouted two heads.

She stepped closer, almost leaning over the table. Ser Barristan took another stride forward but there was no threat in Melisandre's expression. Only a… powerful intensity. "Your line…" she breathed, voice low and audible only by the three royals. "Your line will break the Curse of Old Valyria."

Blinking, Lyanna's confusion had not dissipated. Though she did notice how Rhaegar tensed up - eyes wide. "You mean Aegon? Or Rhaenys?"

"Your line," Melisandre pointed to Lyanna. "Your blood, Princess Lyanna. Many great things will come from all of you, my Prince and Princesses, but the blood of Ice and Fire holds the salvation of the blood of the dragon."

While only Rhaegar seemed to know what this curse was that she spoke of, all of them were affected by the Red Priestess words "My firstborn?" Lyanna wanted to know. Jon or Visenya?

"You shall soon find out, your Grace." Bowing low, the Red Woman backed away. "I bid you a joyous marriage, my Prince and Princesses. May the Lord of Light grant you his blessing." At the almost absentminded acknowledgement from Rhaegar, she made her exit into the crowd.

Elia cleared her throat. "Well. She was... something else."

"What's the curse of old Valyria, husband?" Lyanna asked, wanting to know.

Seeming to come out of his daze, Rhaegar blinked. "Oh… oh nothing." He waved it off.

She reached out, placing a palm over his hand. "Tell me, my love."

He groaned. "Just some ancient curse that put an end to Valyria and was said to be the cause of the 'Targaryen Madness.'"

"I've heard of this," Elia said. "They say the Valyrians defied the Gods with their hedonism and lust for power."

"...and to teach them humility they eradicated nearly all of them, yah yah yah… It's a ghost story used to frighten children." He hoped they'd simply let it go. Not to distract from their wedding.

Accepting it for now, Lyanna placed her hand on her belly. Jon… He will achieve extraordinary things... I just know it.

"What's that, my love?"

_Did I speak my thoughts?_ "Oh, tis nothing my dragon, just thinking out loud." Rhaegar smiled, leaning over to kiss her.

Drumming her fingers idly on one of the long tables set up in the Great Hall - chosen over the gardens due to the unnatural winter's chill that still fell upon the capitol - Cersei picked up the jeweled goblet for the Dornish red inside… only to set it down upon only smelling it. Much as she wanted to get drunk… what was the point? It wouldn't fill the tempest in her heart. The parading of the man she was supposed to marry and the sister of the man she fancied all happy and joyous at their marriage. _Just reminds me of the shit my life is._ Even her twin… any idiot could spot the goo-goo eyes Jaime was making for the Queen. _If you think I was forbidden love, brother…_

Every path she had ever wanted to take… blocked off. Ended before it ever began, all because she was Cersei fucking Lannister. _Daughter of the great lion of Casterly Rock._ Her name was once a source of pride, but now she just wished it had been anything else.

As if her situation couldn't get any worse, look who happened to show up. "Beloved niece of mine! Beautiful Light of the West!" Gerion Lannister wrapped his arms about her shoulders, rubbing his knuckles on the nest of braids on her head in what he dubbed a 'noogie.' _Fuck my life…_ "Why so down in the mines? I'd have thought - hic - you lived in Castamere!" He guffawed at his own joke.

"Oh uncle, if that were the case she'd be wet." Tyrion was an almost exact copy of Gerion in personality - Aunt Gemma said he had their father's wit, while Cersei was certain a demon gave him his looks - down to the tendency to drunkenness that so infected them now. "But you know her… everything neat and in place." As he said, her deep-sleeved maroon dress with a slim waist and bronze lion emblazoned both on the bodice and the gold choker round her neck was immaculate. "Mustn't run and mustn't play, lest it ruin little Cer-say." That caused another round of laughs that could only come from drinking.

"Shouldn't father be insisting you keep to your best behavior?" she hissed.

Gerion somehow found even that hilarious. "That old kitten? He won't show himself around here out of expediency, even though the King is wherever the fuck he is." Cersei blinked, noticing for the first time that Aerys wasn't present. "So, why aren't you celebrating?" He turned to Tyrion, sloppily jostling her. "Wittle Cer-Cer isn't even nailed to her brother's side as in these dumb things." A groan left her mouth at the childhood nickname.

But Tyrion's resulting grin, quite sobor in spite of his drinking, that made her skin bristle. "She misses the new man of her dreams. The gallant Florian to her Jonquil!" he sung like a really bad bard. Luckily, no one was listening.

Cersei almost threw the goblet at him. "Shut up!"

This only got Gerion's attention. "Oh, and who is this handsome, handsome man that wants his cock in your cunny?" If he wasn't her uncle, she'd hit him too. _Gods, save me from these..._

"My Lady." Cersei looked up… only to be struck mute by the familiar, beautiful face of her hero. "May I ask for a dance with the Light of the West?" Ned Stark asked, grinning confidently but trembling inside.

That powerful grin made Cersei actually wet. "Um…" She stood, smoothing out her dress. "You may, my Lord." Taking his hand, she hesitantly matched his smile as they walked to the dance floor.

Two sets of green eyes watched. "Who's that?" slurred Gerion.

Tyrion belched. "That's Eddard Stark, Lyanna's brother."

"Cer-Cer likes him?" At Tyrion's nod, he wiped his eyes. "Shit… well… damn." His niece was finally interesting.

"Who's that my brother is dancing with?" Lyanna asked Rhaegar, pointing to the floor.

Squinting through the dimly lit hall, Rhaegar could almost swear… "That's Cersei Lannister."

"Fuck off." Lyanna couldn't believe it. "Really?"

"It appears," Elia murmured, "That horses have sprouted wings like Bittersteel." Many might not see it, but the three could tell there was something other than politeness there.

The dance was a slow one, northern minstrels replaced by those of the south. Allowing Ned to keep one hand in Cersei's and one on her waist. "So, you seem in a cheerier mood tonight, Lord Stark," Cersei asked haughtily. Trying to recover her composure.

He chuckled lightly. "It isn't every day that one's sister becomes a Targaryen Princess." Guiding her in a twirl, she did so, trying not to giggle from the move. Eddard Stark was a good dancer - another layer to his enigma. "Yet, you seem a bit sad."

Looking away, Cersei concentrated on the steps of the dance. "Just a bit alone. Facing some truths I'd rather not face."

"And why is that?"

Damn him. He seemed to be on a mission to pry it out of her. "Because what I once wanted and currently want are simply unattainable." Her steely look melted at his grey eyes. Staring at her as if she were the only person in the world. Once again, Cersei reflected at how unexpected this all was.

Swallowing, enchanted into near silence by the hypnotic gaze of the lioness, Ned took a moment to find the courage… "Would you…" He took a deep breath. "Perhaps we should take a stroll in the gardens, Lady Lannister. We can talk… freely there."

Cersei's creamy lids fluttered shut, green eyes glistening. Quite conscious of the warm feeling of his hand on her waist. "I think that I would enjoy that very much, Lord Stark."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, everything's shaping up to a beautiful wedding night :D
> 
> Lyanna's dress is a northern version of Sansa's dress when she married Tyrion.
> 
> Melisandre's here!
> 
> Next up, part two of the wedding and all the smut! If I can get 35 comments, I'll post Saturday.


	24. Royal Wedding Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, The smut that was promised ;)
> 
> Hope everyone is fine during the Wuhan Virus chaos. Stay safe and cautious, everybody, and rest assured. Us authors will provide proper content to last y'all during it!
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

"Would you like to sit, my Lady?" Ned asked, gesturing to a low stone bench in the middle of the flower gardens. "I am sure your footwear is quite uncomfortable."

Nodding absentmindedly, Cersei made her way to the bench. Guiding Ned to sit right beside her, his closeness causing her a pleasant shiver. "Thank you, Lord Stark." They had been talking for what seemed like an eternity - from the banal to the political, anything was used simply for them to continue in their little world. Alone together in a surreal daze, where it could just be the two of them. "You were saying… of your brother and sister, the Princess?"

"Aye… I suppose I'll have to think of Lyanna as my sovereign instead of my sister." Ned chuckled, which caused Cersei to smile as well. "Anyway, Benjen and she were only a year apart, and were quite close. Father ended up discovering him teaching her his swordplay lessons."

"Quite the scandal." Tywin would have killed her had she tried to learn swordplay with Jaime.

Ned shrugged. "Father was angry at first, but my mother managed to convince him that Lyanna should learn." It had been Rickard's deathbed promise to Lyarra Stark to let Lyanna train. "Any similar tales between your two brothers?"

Cersei laughed bitterly, it not reaching her eyes. "Aye, those two are thick as thieves. Always listening to Uncle Gerion's adventure stories and then acting them out - Jaime the brawn and Tyrion the brain. Terrorizing everyone and yet charming them at the same time." She shook her head. "I get why they would fall for Jaime's good looks and rapier wit, but that little monster?"

While most who referred to their own kin in such terms would repulse Ned… there was no way this woman could repulse him. He knew on instinct there was something deeper. "I think you may be jealous of their bond, my Lady."

"You had to think to figure that one out?" Cersei remarked sarcastically, glaring at him from where they sat. "Of course I'm jealous. As children, Jaime and I were inseparable. Now, he tends to spend just as much time with him as with me." Granted, that was before he left for the Kingsguard - best that he did that.

"Perhaps he sees that you and Tyrion are all he has left of your mother?" Such was why Ned was close to Lyanna in spite of their age difference. He figured it would be the same.

Blinking, she opened her mouth to deny… but was unable to. That had never occurred to Cersei. Gods, he's right. Most found Joanna's looks in her and personality in Jaime, but for Jaime himself? She was closer to her father or Aunt Genna in personality, while Tyrion's obvious kinship with Gerion belied much of him being exactly like their mother. _He loves us no matter what we say about him, just as mother did…_

She shook her head. Tyrion didn't deserve Cersei's sentimentality. "Jaime sees what he sees. What I see... he killed my mother."

"My lady, babies can't be kinslayers. They can't mean for that to happen to the women that birth them." He reached out to place his hand on hers.

Cersei recoiled from him, anger raised. "Do you know what it's like to lose a mother, Ned Stark?" she spat. Even after years, losing Joanna was a sore spot… especially after what happened before…

The answer was but a murmur. "I do."

All anger left her at his words. _What?_ Lessons from their maester on the various Northern houses were of little interest for her, so Cersei had assumed Lady Stark was simply at Winterfell tending to the North in Rickard's absence. _His mother was lost…_ Seeing his caring expression grow hard, brooding, she recognized it as one they shared. Cersei bit her lip, suddenly hating herself for ripping her hand away - for snapping at him. Slowly, she eased her hand back under his.

As with her, the wounds of losing a parent would never heal. "My mother died seven years after Benjen's birth - he was a difficult, spring birth, and she didn't survive the next winter." Ned fought the tears in his eyes. "Benjen barely remembers her, while Lyanna remembers less than Brandon or I." A wistful smile came at the memories. "She was the kindest woman, but a wolf when need be... not unlike your own mother my Lady, with what you have told me about her."

There was a silence. "She died from weakness after your brother's birth?"

"No, the gods decided it was her time." He would never blame Benjen, even if she had died as Joanna Lannister. "We were all heartbroken - father most of all - but we cherished her memory as she would have wanted."

_Cherish her memory._ While she never thought of it before, even Tyrion left a wildflower on their mother's grave on his birthday... the day of her death. "I've never been able not to blame my brother for it..."

Ned reached over and took her other hand in his. Taking a chance to both be closer to her and give her comforting advice. "My lady, I'm sure it must have been heartbreaking to lose her, but please don't judge your brother for a crime he did not commit." He watched her bite her lip, conflicted… and utterly beautiful. "You said Jaime loved your mother as much as you - did he ever blame Tyrion?"

A tear falls down her eye. "No... he never did..."

Seeing the tear, Ned embraced her. Relishing the feel of her in his arms. "Just let all the pain go. It will be fine, I promise."

Even as he almost commanded her to let out the hurt still inside her, Cersei wouldn't. Just couldn't… Much as Ned Stark's words made sense, it was too far of a reach for her. Instead, she merely held him, inhaling his scent. Letting herself relax in the unfamiliar yet simply right feel of the enigmatic northerner. One she had met only a moonturn before. It felt as if she'd known him forever. It felt as if destiny itself was pulling her closer to Ned.

"What are we doing here, Eddard?" It was the first time she ever said his name, and it sounded so good on her tongue. "We'll never be together... yet I can't stop thinking about you."

Ned pulled away, looking into her eyes. "Me neither… Cersei."

She shivered at her name on his lips. "Why... why do you seem to care about me so?"

Blinking, her blunt question stumped him for a moment - Ned decided to be honest. "Most speak of your father, and connect you to him or the failed attempt to betroth you to Rhaegar." Cersei fought back a groan at his mentioning that, but Ned wasn't finished. "I focused on you, the person that you are. You're passionate, intelligent, beautiful, strong, yet delicate and womanly - I can't explain it more than that, but you allure me."

"We've barely spoken..." she ends up blushing. Even Jaime had never praised her so broadly.

That had come to his mind many times before, but for the first time Ned decided to follow his heart. "That's what you are my lady. Even a 'northern fool' like myself can see it."

_Gods… A second son, a northern barbarian… a wonderful man…_ Titles and power suddenly seemed just so abstract to her, while this affection was real. Unable to take it, she pulled him in for a kiss. Getting the closeness she had so craved. It started slow, soft. Exploring each other and committing to memory - but it didn't take long for it to deepen. Tongues battling, hands trying desperately to restrain themselves from shooting to the most intimate bits. Picking up right where they left off the previous night.

They kissed for what seemed like hours, Ned pulling her flush against him. _More a chance than I think…_ Oberyn was right. He could feel himself getting worked up, close to the point of no return. Duty and honor told him one thing, but at this point Ned couldn't seem to care. Fate pulled him in the other direction, the brooding Ned Stark meeting his match in Cersei Lannister. _Perhaps love is the greatest duty..._ "Come to my chambers," he blurted out, blushing hotly when he realized what he said.

Cersei, lightheaded from the kiss, couldn't think straight. But her words were just as unavoidable as his. "Guide me."

* * *

"You really want the wedding in Winterfell?" Hoster Tully asked, deep in his cups and slightly surprised. "I can have the ceremony prepared at Riverrun in a fortnight."

Smiling apologetically, Rickard shrugged his shoulders. "While I would love to avail myself to your hospitality, Hoster, Catelyn will be the future Lady of Winterfell. It's a chance for her to settle into her position."

That made sense, but the Lord of Riverrun was less than enthusiastic. "Before the godswood?"

"Naturally."

He blinked, shaking his head. "The only sept in the North is in White Harbor, perhaps we could compromise and have it there. Far easier journey by ship than moving up the Kingsroad…"

"Ah Hoster," laughed Jon Arryn. "You're just not wanting to get too chilled from the northern blizzards."

"There is that," acknowledged Lord Tully.

"Then buy a coat," Lady Olenna Tyrell said gruffly. The four of them were huddled together at a table, three Lords Paramount and one de facto Lady Paramount shooting the breeze. "You know it must be at Winterfell."

Hoster sighed. "Very well. Winterfell it is. I shall inform my daughter to begin packing her household." He stood, leaving his cup behind. "Till later, my friends."

"It has been a pleasure, dearest Hoster," waved Olenna, a polite smile worn on her face till he walked out of earshot. Dropping to a sour frown, she leaned to Rickard and spoke bluntly. "He should just put on the folded robes and join the Most Devout." The Lord of Winterfell blinked while the Lord of the Eyrie almost spat out his wine in laughter. Tapping the table, the Queen of Thorns stared intently at her Northern counterpart. "That daughter of his will destroy your house."

Rickard raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon, Lady Olenna?" While the first comment had been mindless needling, this one concerned his House directly.

She scoffed. "You heard me, Lord Rickard. Gods, did all the winter blizzards make you deaf?"

A look at Jon Arryn found the old Lord raise his palms in surrender - he wouldn't get involved. Probably smart of him. "I don't see what you mean, my Lady. Catelyn Tully is a kind, dutiful maiden that seems to love my son very much." His eyes found the both of them, Brandon lifting the laughing redhead in his arms, twirling her around while his daughter and her spouses clapped from the dias.

Such a display only caused Olenna to roll her eyes. "Plenty of love matches out there, but there's more to a proper alliance than love. My idiot husband loved me, but he could have fallen for a dunderhead in five minutes and Highgarden would have been a ruin." She sipped at her wine, rather enjoying the Stark's blank stare and the Arryn's giggle.

Unlike Jon Arryn - simply an amused bystander - Rickard was confused by the Lady Dowager of Highgarden's line of commentary. "What deficiency do you see in Catelyn Tully?"

"She'll try to turn Winterfell into the Starry Sept. Push aside the old gods and replace it with her own pious traditions."

Rickard rejected Olenna's assertions. "She respects our traditions my lady." House Tully was a good match for them, both politically and personally.

"Did you bother to ask her?" Such alliances rarely were done outside of conversations between fathers - had it been among southern houses there wouldn't be a problem, but the Starks were northern.

"I am certain she knows that not to would earn the mistrust of the Northern houses," Rickard tried to defend his heir's betrothed.

Olenna shook her head. "That doesn't sound like the Hoster Tully I know. It's been said the Blackwoods make sure to always meet him outside of their keep in case he sees their Weirwood." Jon nodded. Those stories had crossed to the Vale as well as the Reach.

"Ever since we were the Kings in the North, we were steadfast in our ways." He was adamant. "We will not change that, and Brandon will not allow it."

She smacked her wrinkled hand on her face. "Oh you poor, deluded northern fool. Tullys may be many things, but malleable is not one of them. They aren't harpies like the Ironborn and some other houses." Those that were she could recite from memory. "But they are stubborn, bullheaded, and quite impulsive even if it bites them in the ass." Olenna placed her hand on Rickard's. "Be wary, for I doubt your position in the North is as strong as you think."

Rickard's brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

Shrugging, the Queen of Thorns pointed to a corner - where Roose Bolton sat drinking in silence with Stevron Frey and Wyman Manderly. "That man, he's a snake. It's too cold for snakes up there, but I know one when I see one. Don't give your heir any leeway for that man to exploit."

_Ah… of course._ It was a common refrain. When not the Blackwoods and Brackens or the Martells and Tyrells, it was the Starks and the Boltons. Had it been Roose's father Royce, Rickard would have agreed with Olenna completely… the son was more an enigma. Quiet and crafty, but no sign of the opportunistic brutality that the house of the Flayed Man was notorious for. "I know Roose can be sneaky, but he is one of our most important vassals."

"Please, Rickard," Jon cut in. "I worry you are looking at this too rosily. The Boltons are not a house to be trifled with."

He narrowed his eyes. "I'm not looking at this naively, Jon. I actually want to foster his heir in Winterfell when one of them survives past the cradle…" Keeping his rival close could finally normalize relations. "Poor man, he's lost his third already."

"That's smart of you, but beware Catelyn Tully." She poured herself another cup. "I actually think that Lannister bitch would be a better Lady of Winterfell. Tywin's brood, they have no beliefs except for personal gain. Makes them... adaptable."

"Mhm, a lion and a direwolf do make for a mightier sight than a trout," laughed Jon Arryn.

"Brandon would never go for it. Tywin Lannister as his goodfather?" Rickard shuddered. There were some alliances he wouldn't go for - no sense in antagonizing Aerys further.

"You do have another son? Quite the smart one, I believe. Quiet but a lot of potential."

That caused Rickard to shake his head, much as the alliance could be beneficial if in the right moment. "Tywin's no Tytos. he will never wed his only daughter to a second son, even if he is the goodbrother of the King."

"You can decree him to be your heir. It's been done before... Gods wish I had done that," she mumbled about her dunce of a son.

Rickard gasped, aghast at the thought. "No, I could never do that to brandon." _And I doubt Ned would ever allow it._ "He might drive me mad sometimes, along with his sister, but he is still my heir and he'll make me proud."

Finishing her wine, Olenna grabbed her cane and used it to stand from the table. "Your funeral," she drolled, strolling away to find smarter company. _The man's too honorable for his own good._

At the dias, the Queen had finally made her way to congratulate her son and gooddaughters, hugging each of them. "You look positively radiant, Lyanna."

Her smile could light up the entire room. "This is the happiest day of my life. I feel radiant, your Grace…"

"What did I tell you?" warned Rhaella, scolding as a mother would. "Especially now, my name is Rhaella to you."

"Better do as she says, my love," Rhaegar offered, smiling cheekily to a swat from Elia.

The Dornish Princess nevertheless held the same smile at her sister-wife. "I slipped up a lot as a young wife. She never let me forget it."

Lyanna laughed. "Alright, Rhaella." The two shared yet another hug.

Off to the side, Jaime watched the scene with half-satisfaction, half-longing when someone smacked him on the back of the head. "Argh… what the fuck, uncle?"

"Ah, so I finally got yer' attention," slurred Gerion Lannister, somehow able to walk in spite of downing two flagons of Arbor Gold. "Go make your move."

Jaime rubbed the still sore back of his skull. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Even drunk, the youngest of the five Lannister siblings knew when to keep his voice down. "You and the Valyrian beauty. Go ask her to dance."

Face going red, the kingsguard wished Gerion hadn't said that. "Uncle… I like my head the way it is."

"Oh pish, it's just a dance… his Grace won't be alive forever." Gerion shoved him forward. "Now go, or I'll tell your sister that it was your idea for Tyrion to milk his eel into her turtle stew."

Judging the peril of a dance with the Queen was far less likely to have him killed than Cersei's wrath, the Lion of Lannister hastily approached just as the Queen was about to descend the steps. "Oh, Ser Jaime," Rhaella remarked, stopping herself before she could run into him. "I may be a little tipsy."

He gulped. "You look fine to me, your Grace." Jaime bit his tongue and offered her a hand. "Enough for a dance?"

Rhaella blinked. "Ser Jaime…" Not that she didn't want to. She very much couldn't decline an offer to dance with a handsome young knight, but…

"His Grace is retired. I'm probably the only person besides the Prince who could and…" Both peeked at how he listened to Lyanna regaling him about a story of a wildling raid. "He's busy at the moment. Shall we?"

There was a silence before a grin stretched on the Queen's face. "It's been years since I had a proper dance. Lead the way, Ser Jaime."

* * *

The corridors were deserted. Hopes for a raucous bedding ceremony having drawn servants, guards, and whatever highborn invitees to outside the official royal quarters, leaving the guest ones practically abandoned. Given that a drunk Brandon Stark would likely be showing up now that the party was slowing down - with or without his betrothed for some post-wedding fun - the two would-be lovers knew to rush. Not making haste, but not at a ponderous pace by a long shot.

Biting her lip, Cersei's heart pounded in her chest. Her velvet lined wooden pumps clicked on the stone floor beneath her, echoing in the cavernous halls. Anything for her senses to focus on. Anything to calm her racing heart against the feel of the pair of eyes undoubtedly staring at her from behind. The soft breaths of the man that had caught her fancy only a moonturn before…

A thought coming to her, Cersei added an extra sway to her hips. Lips curling into a smirk when she heard his breath hitch. Normally, she enjoyed manipulating men - even her brother - to get what she wanted, but at that moment she merely wanted to please him… and glad that she succeeded.

"Do… do you know where you're going, Lady Cersei?"

Her name on his lips didn't cease to cause shudders to go through Cersei. A few nights ago might have been blamed on the alcohol, but she hadn't had a drop to drink tonight. "I've stayed in the guest quarters before… Lord Eddard." Turning the right corner, they came upon a dead end hallway. "Though I need to know what room you're in."

Chuckling, Ned moved to slide ahead of her. Bare hand brushing her waist, causing her to jump a bit. "Allow me to lead the way, this time." The little tug of war between them, a battle for dominance both scathing and so soft as to be seductive, he rather liked it. As if the two of them fit like pieces of a childhood block her hand in his, he gently led the Light of the West towards his particular chambers at the end of the hallway. "Here we are… Cersei."

"Are you nervous... Eddard?" At that moment she was nervous, but not from what an observer would think. Face to face against the enigmatic, brooding, handsome northerner… after the little but no less meaningful contact they shared, Cersei was actually worried she wouldn't measure up. It was an… unexpected feeling.

Ned was silent, merely opening the door. Thoughts clouded by this intoxicating woman now returning with full force. Certain... uncomfortable truths. "Aye," he murmured as she walked into the room past him, closing the door behind him. "I am nervous."

Cersei's face fell. Worried that he might be backing out, the first man she truly wanted since she and Jaime. Wordlessly, she turned away, looking at the open window and the bright moon in the inky-black sky. "Why is that?" she almost croaked. Half-unwilling to know the answer.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Ned decided to be honest. "I… well… you'd be my first woman."

Turning abruptly, the lioness found herself gaping at him. Not in any circumstance expecting that. "You're first…" Someone as handsome as he… this had to be some kind of jape. "Aren't you of twenty namedays?" _Surely he's had a smallfolk maiden, lonely older widow, or something?_

But his initial statement was the truth. "While Robert often pushed me, I never took any of the women he threw at me up on their offers." There had been quite a few of both high and lowborn, but Ned had refused them all. After meeting Cersei, he realized whom the gods had been saving him for. "You would be my first."

"But your brother…" While not as notorious as some of the other noted womanizers in court, Brandon's flirty nature had gotten around.

"I am not my brother, Cersei."

_Thank the gods for that._ Regardless of what some said, Ned was by far the more attractive of the two. "Why did you wait?" She wanted to know.

Ned looked away, face resembling a ripe strawberry. "I couldn't dishonor any maidens, or risk shaming my house and myself with a bastard." Cersei gulped. _The former isn't an issue for me._ "With you… gods, Cersei." Running a hand through his hair, he struggled to find the words. "...I can't help myself. We've only truly spoken twice, and yet you're my clearest weakness." He turned, grey eyes so dark they were almost black. "And I don't regret these feelings."

She shivered. His wolfish gaze filling Cersei with lust. "I shall be your first." She spoke it as if holding some sort of crown. "I… I hope I am up to the task."

Taking big strides, Ned cupped her waist. "You already are… I am enchanted by you, Cersei."

His simple words of passion more incendiary than any of the flowery speeches and lascivious propositions of all past suitors, Cersei closed the distance between them. Fusing their lips together, frantically begging for entrance which was immediately granted.

Unlike Rhaegar, Ned wasn't a bloody poet… but in this he didn't need to be. Lack of experience outweighed by enthusiasm, one hand wrapped tightly round her waist. Pulling her flush to him. Cersei gasped into his mouth as the kiss grew even deeper. The other hand tangled in the crown of braids. Tugging hard, needing the golden locks loose as he began pushing her to the bed.

Cersei felt the pain, and yet it only spurred her on. Delicate fingers fought off the cumbersome long sleeves to ghost over her new lover's body. Admiring the hard planes of the northerner's body that had fought and defeated the Sword of the Morning. Kiss never breaking, devouring his mouth with the hunger of a lioness, Cersei struggled to undo the laces of his doublet and trousers just as her hair fell down in waves and loose braids. Her gold, lion-emblazoned choker clattering to the floor to expose her neck. She needed him bare… impatient to finally feel this man inside her.

To truly see if he could tame the mighty lioness.

Kiss finally breaking when she slid the formal wear off his torso and hips, Ned attacked her neck. Encouraged by her wanton moans while he moved to her own dress. Exposing her shoulders as he pushed it down. Robert had often complained that highborn girls were prudish and inhibited compared to the more earthy smallfolk, but Cersei held no such compunctions. She was pure lust, and it drove something inside him. Brought the inner wolfsblood from beneath the dutiful, quiet exterior.

While it was deliciously tight across her slim body, Ned's insistence brought the entire dress down to her hips, nearly ripping it… not that either cared in the moment. Causing a sharp intake of breath - she wasn't wearing smallclothes. "Gods…"

Shivering under his gaze… hungry with desire for her, Cersei grabbed his head. "Don't speak." She couldn't handle hearing his sweet northern brogue. They fell onto his bed just as she brought him to her chest. Gasping when her wolf - _my wolf_ \- latched to a heaving breast. _Don't… stop._ Licking, nipping, and sucking, Ned's stubble tickled her skin. Bringing her so much pleasure. _Inside… please inside..._

She was breathtaking. A goddess in his eyes. As soon as he glimpsed her nude form, all honor and propriety was forgotten. Cersei Lannister was his sin, and gods help him he did not care. Devouring her breasts. Hands fondling her waist and stomach, urging a leg to hike around his bare hip. Desperate, wanting to finally feel a woman - this woman - surrounding him, he fished for his rock-hard length and began to guide it towards her entrance… though fumblingly unable to find it...

While it was truly adorable - he was a virgin after all - Cersei could only grow impatient in her lust. Reaching down and batting his hand away, causing a hiss from her lover as she wrapped her digits around his length. Pulling it to her entrance. Locking her legs around his waist so that Ned's only recourse was to slide inside her.

"Fu…" All words were silenced with a kiss, Cersei's hand fisting in his hair to keep him in place. Hot and wet walls sheathed him, an indescribable feeling. The goddess beneath him urging him on, begging him to thrust...

Cersei let out a scream inside his mouth. This was no tender passion, but a mating rut once he slammed into her… and she loved it. Craved it. _Yes… yes… yes…_ Her dreams had been filled with his touch since the tourney, but nothing could compare to the truth. She wedged her free hand between them, finding her nub and stroking at it. Wanting to shatter with him.

Walls tightening around him, Ned increased his force through gritted teeth. Watching Cersei's hypnotic green eyes roll into her skull. It didn't take long for the winter blizzard to howl within him, finding his release buried deep inside her.

Feeling his seed coating her walls as she attacked her nub... the lioness couldn't hold. Shattering around him, a rippling climax coursing through her entire body. Cersei felt him collapse on her, his welcome weight pressing down on her still shuddering body. Kiss broken, room filled with her pants and his grunts. Magical.

And so they found themselves enjoying the trembling aftershocks tightly wrapped together on their sides facing each other. Arms pulling them flush against the other, legs intertwined. Cersei's head was buried in his chest while Ned stroked her back. Fingers delightful on her bare spine. Sighing happily with love.

_Love?_

Yes, love… rather close to it. Never did Cersei feel so loved in her life, not even with Jaime - with them it was merely a taboo thrill, as thrilling as being Queen was to her. With Ned… she could feel herself truly falling for this man.

The reality of their situation hit her like a collapsing castle wall. _A tragedy worth a hundred songs._

Unknowing of her thoughts, yet thinking nearly the same, Ned buried his face into Cersei's golden locks. So exotic - unlike anything in the north. "I don't want to ever leave this room," he murmured into her hair.

"Me neither," she responded, inhaling his northern scent of pine and snow. It was simply so easy to be close to him. A man that both understood her feelings and yet tempered them.

"By the old gods… we should run away together." Ned wished to fully confess his love, but it would cause him so much pain. _Never break an oath you make… never make an oath you can't keep._ He couldn't keep such an oath to her. "You'd love Winterfell... It's boring compared to here, but better - calm and free."

She kissed his chest. "Anything sounds better than being bored to death on Casterly Rock." They shared a laugh. "Nothing much happens there. No drama since father defeated the Reynes."

Ned leaned in to kiss her, skirting the pain of their reality - banished temporarily by passion. "I'd marry you in an instant, Cersei."

"I…" She would have died to marry this man, someone that truly cared about her and not her body or position. But Cersei was like her father in that way. Often killing her sentimentality for the greater good. "Alas the 'Lion of the Rock' would never allow his only daughter to wed a second son. He is no Tytos, Eddard." Her grandfather let her aunt Gemma marry a Frey… not the heir to the Twins. Knowing how Tywin hated her uncle, Ned didn't stand a chance.

Ned sighed, heart heavy. Drifting into his brooding, but the feel of her hugging him tighter banished those feelings. It wasn't fair to either of them to add on to the inevitable. "At least we have tonight." A night he would remember for the rest of his life.

Looking up at his words, Cersei smiled. A smile that turned into a smirk, rolling him over so she straddled him. Pinning his arms above her head and grinding into his crotch. Reveling in the direwolf's groan. "We have tonight…" she purred, bringing his hands to her breasts. "All... night..." Sorrow was once again lost in their passion.

* * *

"Make way for the Princess!" Ellaria called out into the hallway, voice loud and dripping with sex. "The night of her deflowering has arrived!"

"Fuck you," Lyanna replied evenly, causing gasps from some of the highborns carrying her in spite of her smile. Such was the compromise with tradition her husband - _husband…_ _I quite enjoy that -_ had insisted on. The women would carry her, while the male guests had hoisted Rhaegar on their shoulders, singing _The Dornishman's Wife_ at the top of their lungs to the Crown Prince's chambers.

"That's what Prince Rhaegar will do to you," grinned Dacey, pretty much all the Ladies Paramount and royal household giggling as they carried her. Two were missing in the group of laughing and singing maidens. Rhaella, she knew, had retired at Ser Jaime's insistence when the Queen was close to collapsing after three fast dances with him. _Don't think I didn't see what you did there, Ser Jaime._ As for the other..._ Where is Lady Lannister?_ Last she saw, Cersei was leaving for the gardens with… _oh_. Lyanna grinned, which the ladies thought was for their japes. _Good for you, big brother…_ If Ned actually was… intimate with Cersei Lannister, then she had to have passed top muster.

Her thoughts on Ned's sex life evaporated as a male hand smacked against her leg. "Your man is waiting!" whistled Bran, another smack hitting the rup of Catelyn before he joined the other drunk Lords racing back to the great hall. Whooping and jeering. Lyanna rolled her eyes just as the women set her down in front of the Prince's chambers, Ser Oswell and Ser Barristan standing guard.

"Alright, the fun is over. Shoo." Elia practically pushed the ladies away, alone among them to know the gravity of a wedding to a Targaryen Prince. How exhausting it was. "Holding up, Lyanna?"

Gulping, Lyanna nodded. "Aye, I am." She just couldn't stop smiling.

Her smile was infectious. "I'm glad." The two Princesses hugged tightly, bound before the gods to the same man rather than simply by affection. "I'll leave you to your night. Just relax and let him know what is pleasing and what isn't. He…" She blushed a bit. "Knows what he's doing."

Lyanna blushed as well. "I'll keep that in mind." Leaning in, she kissed Elia's cheek. "Tell Rhae and Egg that I love them."

"I will." And with that, Elia shut the chamber door behind her, leaving the newlyweds alone to their wedding night.

Rhaegar was waiting for her by the bed, stripped out of his fancy doublet, breeches, and all the other finery of a prince. A simple maroon sleep tunic covered from his neck to the middle of his thigh, showing off plenty of muscular leg and dark silver hair dotting the top of his chest. Lyanna drew her lip between her teeth at the sight, both scrumptious and intimidating. The wolfsblood inside her urged the new Princess to jump him where he stood, but she was rooted in place. The shyness of a maiden wed suddenly surrounding her.

Hair tied back in a simple bun, in spite of having done this before Rhaegar felt similar. "Um… how are you?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. Taking several anxious steps towards her, approaching as warily as one would a growling dog.

Suddenly modest, Lyanna wrapped her arms protectively around her side. "Very well," she practically squeaked. _What has gotten into you._ A large shadow towered over her, reminding Lyanna very well of what had changed.

"Hey." Rhaegar reached out and cupped her cheek, feeling the newfound tension start to melt as she nuzzled his warm palm. "Are you alright, Lyanna?"

She nodded, warming for the first time - regardless of how hot the fire was. Strolling absentmindedly around him, Lyanna reacquainted herself with the chambers that would now be hers. It was utterly huge. Bigger than the sleeping chambers of her father at Winterfell which had been her previous frame of reference. _It could swallow my old room whole!_ Ceiling high, windows large to let in the ocean breeze, it felt so very airy. Unlike the cavernous rooms in the North designed to trap heat. And so very grand, black and red of House Targaryen inlaid with gold leaf and frescoes. Depictions of various moments of House Targaryen on the walls. Aegon I burning Harrenhal. Aenys gifting Maegor with Blackfyre upon his coronation. Good Queen Alysanne landing Silverwing at Queenscrown in the North. Rhaenerya's triumphant return to King's Landing during the Dance of the Dragons. Daeron II proclaimed King of the Seven Kingdoms. All so gilded, nothing like it similar from Lyanna's childhood at Winterfell.

At long last, Lyanna answered his question. "I'm alright. Just admiring the frescoes." The detail was just so… intricate. "There's nothing like this in the North."

The Prince looked away, embarrassed. "Didn't have time to consult you about your preference," he murmured. "Sorry."

"No…" Rhaegar looked adorable, the way he brooded. "I don't honestly mind."

"My grandfather made them, it was his chambers," he shrugged. "Elia liked them."

Chuckling, Lyanna made her way to hug him from behind. "I love them, husband." She stood on tiptoes and pressed a kiss on his clothed shoulder blade. "Do all your wives seek to redecorate?"

This coaxed a chuckle of his own. "Women like to make their own touch on things."

"So shall I… though I'll consult with my sister-wife." Not keen on banter anymore, she grabbed his hand, urging him to turn and face her. "Why are you brooding, my love?"

He looked down on her, a mighty Valyrian warrior struck out of his element. "I… I can't believe you're in my life... you're a goddess."

Lyanna's heart melted. _My Dragon Prince… my Prince Daemon… my Aegon the Conqueror._ All her dreams come true, and yet he was the one seemingly out of his league. It made her love him more. Leaning up once more, she kissed him sweetly. One he eagerly returned. "We'll just have to figure it out from here," she grinned, hands deftly tugging at his hair to let the silver locks free about his shoulders.

Disengaging, she walked slowly to the bed. Removing the crown of winter roses and setting it on an ornate oaken table before then pulling her hair out from the northern braids. Lyanna peeked over her shoulder, watching him staring intently. Biting her lip, this time naughtily, with a few expert moves the dress was falling from her body. A tug here and there causing it to tumble completely. Leaving her naked as her nameday. Easing herself onto the bed, Lyanna hiked up one knee. A curtain of hair falling forward to obscure the inviting look on her face, she smiled sultrily. "Come to bed, my Prince."

Mouth dry at glimpsing the toned, milky skin of his bride, Rhaegar padded slowly towards her. Stone cold against his bare feet and cock hard with desire for her, he nevertheless wanted to savor the moment. The sight of her like this, innocent eyes wide yet supremely naughty lips curled into a smirk, Rhaegar wanted to remember it for the rest of his life.

Soon he was beside the bed. "My sweet Rhaegar… you're wearing too many clothes." He moved to doff his tunic, but she stilled his hand. Standing, exposing the entire length of her bare form. "Let me." Fingers fisted the hem of the tunic, lifting it up and off his head, it was now Lyanna's turn to admire the beautiful body of her husband. Toned, muscular, well-proportioned… and a thick length all for her.

"Does the Princess like what she sees?" Her wanton glare surged his confidence.

For want of an answer, Lyanna simply kissed him greedily. Pulling him atop of her on the bed, finally getting the skin on skin contact she so desired. The kiss was short, Rhaegar beginning to lick and suck down her neck and chest - paying special attention to her breasts. Lavishing his love on her nipples, making her writhe with pleasure. Fingers tangling in his hair… the silver locks she so adored. Urging him downward when the ache between her legs grew too much to bear.

Familiar but yet so new, Rhaegar swiped his tongue through her wet core. Juices tasting sweeter than before… _Is it from our marriage alone?_ Devouring her, he figured it was. A moan emerged from her, deep and throaty. Reveling in it, Rhaegar turned it into a gasp as slid his tongue inside of her throbbing cunt.

"Oh, my dragon…" Lyanna purred, feeling his tongue lick her insides thoroughly, pull out and trail up to her tender bundle of nerves, and then thrusting back inside. Deeper and deeper with such relish that she shattered for him. Body humming with pleasure. Desperately, she reached down for him. Begging that he meet her face to face. Rhaegar was more than happy to comply.

And so it was, the moment of truth. No formalities or proprietes, ancient distinctions of law remaining to form a wall forcing her and her beloved apart. In the eyes of gods and men, she and Rhaegar were now one soul

As Rhaegar positioned himself above her, he stilled - eyes searching out her own. "Lya…"

Writhing with lust, Lyanna nevertheless had a clear enough mind to know what was coming. "I'm ready, my dragon."

"It'll hurt." Worry was written in his expression. Knowing from experience that breaking her maidenhead would cause pain. Caring enough to never wish that pain upon her.

"I know…" She looped her arms round his neck, leaning up to gently kiss him. Rubbing his tongue with hers to reassure her husband. "Please don't make me wait,_ ñuha jorrāelagon."_

Hearing the Valyrian phrase on her lips, begging in her sweet northern brogue, all hesitance left Rhaegar. Mindful of her comfort but with pure desire returning to his darkened violet eyes, the Crown Prince guided his head to her entrance. Gently spearing forward, swimming in the copious juices of her arousal as he began to stretch her. Hissing even from the pleasure on his tip.

But Lyanna wanted more - so much more. Squirming, she moaned. "Please, my Prince…" Only for her to bite back a cry of pain when the thick cock finally thrust forward halfway. Spearing through her maidenhead with ease. It stung, tears falling from her eyes.

Rhaegar's mouth was on hers in an instant. Tongue desperately but languidly dancing inside her cavern, hand kneading her breast and playing with her nipple. "I love you," he breathed, kissing down to her sensitive neck. "I love you, _ñuha zokla_." Letting her stretch for him, making her wetter.

Slowly at first, Lyanna's burning morphed into a burning need. Pain from his cock gradually delicious as it scraped against her inner walls. Reluctance faded to passion, desperation as she yanked him by the hair. Frantically kissing him, hunger returning with a vengeance. "In me," Lyanna growled, eyes a stormy tempest of grey. "All of you, in me now." Rhaegar obliged, Lyanna gasping into his mouth when his long, hard member eased into her to the hilt. A fullness she had never before felt but knew she now couldn't live without. _Fuck… Rhaegar… yessssss…_

Whatever restraint was left simply dissolved in an instant. Rhaegar lost it - devoid of a woman contracting and bucking around him, his almost instinctive urge to mate and breed consumed his body. Angling his hips, anchoring his arms underneath her shoulders, the Prince thrusted. Hard, slamming her rear into the bed. Cock rising till it almost left her and then right back in. Over and over again, breaking their kiss so he could suck in deep breaths, mouth hot against her ear.

Lyanna' mouth was open in a silent scream. Literally unable to make a sound, the sweet pleasure of his length trying its best to split her in two. "Fuck… Rhaegar…" Nothing could have prepared her for this. Not their fun prior to the wedding, not speeches from Ellaria or Elia - no lesson could top the sweet lovemaking from the man she adored with every fiber of her being. His cock rubbed against every sensitive spot she never knew she had, pelvis slamming against her exposed nub till she cried out. Desperate for more. "More… more… more… Gods! I can take it!"

Sinking his teeth into the join of her neck and shoulder - loving how she screamed his name - Rhaegar pounded his bride like a man possessed. Mind overwhelmed by her vice-like tightness as he kept on thrusting. Ever harder, ever faster. Muscles straining to the point of agony yet nothing could stop Rhaegar. Nothing stopping each of his frenzied, desperate thrusts.

"Ohhh… gods…" His tip was kissing her womb with each thrust. Powerful body smothering her lean frame and teeth likely marking her and she loved it. Craved it. Clenched her teeth to bite back a scream. Lyanna wrapped her legs around him, eager for him as deep as possible. Nails clawing at his back in a frantic effort to beg it of him. She tumbled over the edge a second time, only for his grunting, sweaty movements to bring her right back up the peak. Cunt gushing, legs tightening, nipples tingling from her breasts mashing against his chest. "I love you… love… you…"

_"Lyanna… ñuha ābrar... ñuha zokla…"_ Never had it taken him so quickly to reach the edge, so he pounded into her three times, hard. Praying she would follow him into the abyss. "Fuuuuck!"

It certainly did the trick. Her vision exploding into a complete battlefield of explosions and color. "Yes, Rhaegar… yes… yes!"

Minutes later, aftershocks a pleasant tingle and cries of passion transformed into sweet whispers of love and devotion, the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms fell asleep atop of her husband. His cock still buried inside her so wonderfully. Contented smile on her face, dreaming of the moment in the next few hours when she would wake him up for another round…

And of the dark-haired, violet-eyed or silver-haired, grey-eyed babe that would hopefully quicken inside her that night.

* * *

Whatever final revelry from the wedding feast ceased as the door to the King's inner sanctum slammed shut. Lady Melisandre walking calmly in as if she hadn't entered the den of a hungry dragon. "You sent for me, your Grace."

From the cot in the far corner, King Aerys stood up. Finally ready to entertain a gap in his self-imposed solitude since the end of the actual wedding. "Aye, Lady Melisandre… or should it be Priestess?" He didn't care either way, but it was pro forma.

"Priestess is preferable, your Grace. Such is our title ordained by the Red Temple in Volantis." She had been surprised when the High Priest sent her to Westeros instead of someone more… politic, but what she had discovered only led her to praise her Lord for his foresight. "May I be of service to you?" Melisandre asked, hiding her gaze at the line of eight eggs in the center of the room.

"You have claimed to see the future," Aerys hissed, hoping that the Red Witch's blandishments would not be so meandering. "To see the will of your god."

Melisandre stood still, hands clasped together with an emotionless expression. "I cannot be certain as to anything, your Grace. The Lord of Light shows me what he wishes - it is up to me and whomever else he chooses to witness such glimpses to decipher them."

Scowling, Aerys grabbed Melisandre and manhandled her to the brazier. "Here, decipher his will. Now!"

Breathing deeply, Melisandre reached into a pouch of her dress to retrieve two red leather gloves, which she donned. Gracefully stepping towards the line of eggs and picking up the one black with red swirls. "The essence of Old Valyria," she then said in an almost daze, dropping the oval into the brazier. "May it allow your will to appear truer to your humble servants, oh Lord of Light."

Suddenly the flames rose higher, turning from the yellow-orange into a deep blood red. Making Aerys flinch, jerking back and nearly tripping over himself. Eyes widening in sheer entrancement, one only before seen when gazing upon the green flicker of lit wildfire. _Is it now that I see my destiny?_

A flash of light in her eyes, Melisandre tilted back. Body undulating with the crackling flames. Mouth dropped in a silent gasp. Aerys blinked. "What?" She stilled her form, merely reaching out to cup the fire at a safe distance. Letting it warm her palms. "What do you see?!" thundered the impatient King.

"He… this egg… It shall be the one."

"Spit it out!"

Another shock of power shot through her. Melisandre's head tilting back, a chant echoing through the room. "The one!" Her entire body trembled. "The one to defeat the curse. This egg shall be his."

Wicked grin forming on his face, Aerys wanted to reach out and hug the egg to him. Knowing it would be his. Knowing that it would be he, Aerys Targaryen Second of His Name, that brought dragons back to the world. _Not my shit of a father and disgrace of a brother. Me!_ "What else, tell me what else!"

Eyes flying open, it was as if their color was a pulsing blood moon. "Two among this clutch, a dragon they shall not belong." Aerys' brows knit into confusion. "A wolf owns one… a false dragon the other." The flames retreated to their usual height, egg glowing as would a dying ember. Melisandre sighed. "That's all I can discern from the flames, your Grace, and even these are vague… as you can likely tell."

Frown telling nothing, Aerys hobbled over to his cot in the center of the private room. Back turned to his guest. "Get out," he barked. "Leave me." Melisandre could only curtsey, leaving the King of the Seven Kingdoms to digest the will of her Lord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta love it, right? Ned and Cersei have their bittersweet first time while Rhaegar and Lyanna finally consummate their love. Plenty more coming up :D
> 
> More drama with Mel and Aerys, while Olenna gives a warning that Rickard should heed.
> 
> Next up, some really big drama and more smut! Be sure to comment. I might update sooner if y'all do :D


	25. Shattered Bliss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all. The fluff of the last chapters give ways to this one.
> 
> Hope everyone is fine during the Wuhan Coronavirus chaos. Be sure to follow CDC guidelines for the duration of the crisis. Stay safe and cautious, everybody, and rest assured. Us authors will provide proper content to last y'all during it!
> 
> Just heard that both Kristofer Hivju and Indira Varma tested positive for the virus. Let's say a prayer for their recovery. Now that China and South Korea are seemingly recovering (thank God for this reprieve for the Chinese and Korean People), let's also say a prayer for America and Europe to pass through this.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

_"Muna_ happy?"

Head turning at the little Princess' sweet voice, Lyanna grinned. Leaning down to kiss who was in effect her daughter on the forehead. "Aye, little dragon. Muna is very happy."

Rhaenys was a ball of excitement that morning. Eager to return to Dragonstone, she had burst into Lyanna's room and never left her side - chattering on and on about all the wonderful things in Rhaegar's Keep. Only now, when she sat on the bed and watched her new mother pack did the inquisitive hatchling observe how Lyanna acted. "Cawse you mawwy kepa?"

Closing her eyes, the she-wolf could only sigh and smile dreamily. Everything felt different now - running her hands along her waist and hips, join of her legs throbbing with a pleasant soreness. Gods… _if I knew it would be this good…_ Lyanna shook her head ever so gently. _No, only Rhaegar could make me feel this way._ So lovingly and deliciously sated… turned from a maiden into a woman fully grown and flowered. A welcome haze settled upon her as she put away the riding trousers and training breeches she insisted on packing herself. As eager as her daughter to journey to Rhaegar's own Keep…

_"Muna… Muna!"_

Laughing at her insistance, in one motion Lyanna scooped the child up. "Oh, sweetling." She pressed motherly kisses to Rhaenys' cheek and forehead. "You are a precious hatchling and _muna_ loves you."

"Wuv you too, _muna,_" mumbled the Princess.

A tiny tickle made Rhaenys giggle. "Alright, what shall we do now?" With Elia likely sitting over Egg, it was apparently her that would sit over Rhaenys and Lyanna was looking forward to it.

But even the wild she-wolf couldn't have been prepared for what the little dragon asked next. "Make me a bwabe brudder."

Had Lyanna been drinking anything, she would have sprayed it all over the walls of her and Rhaegar's chambers. "What…" _Did I hear her right?_ "You want to make a babe brother with me for yourself?"

Rhaenys nodded eagerly. "Egg is fun! Want another lwike Nymwiah!" The butchering of Queen Nymeria's name in reference to the stories Elia read to her of the mighty female warrior and her brother generals only served to emphasize how innocent the request was.

Unable to contain herself, Lyanna began laughing uproariously. Trying her best not to drop Rhaenys as she doubled over with mirth. "Oh sweetling…" Still giggling at the request, she set her daughter down on the bed. "While I would love to give you a babe brother or sister…" Instinctively, her hand drifted down to her abdomen. Imagining little Jon or Visenya potentially growing there at this moment. "That's something only _muna_ and _kepa_ can do… alone."

"I can help!" Rhaenys chirped a little too enthusiastically. "I tells _kepa_ to huwwy to make babe!"

Simply thinking of the image threatened to destroy Lyanna. Biting her lip to bite back the chuckles, she ruffled Rhaenys' hair. "You'll find out when you're older that…" A different image, one of dark and sultry skin mixing with her pale alabaster and Rhaegar's silver hair, all intertwined on the bed in various stages of undress… the she-wolf shuddered, shaking her head to compose herself. "...One doesn't want one's daughter to be present in… babe-making." Lyanna's final answer was far different from what she first wanted to say.

"So no wittle brudder?" Rhaenys looked devastated.

"Tell you what. Why don't you go into the closet and find me your favorite pair of riding trousers. Then I'll take you on a ride on Winter when we're on Dragonstone." Eyes brightening, the giggling Rhaenys dashed off to complete the task. Smirking to herself - not to mention a little wet from the image - Lyanna bit it back as she kept packing. Resolved to burn off the desire with Rhaegar the next time she saw him.

"Where are your servants?"

For the second time in the space of ten minutes did the she-wolf turn on a silver stag… the first was for her dragon-blooded, adorable daughter. This time, a raspy, bitter voice caused a far different reaction in Lyanna. "Your Grace," she murmured, dropping into a low curtsey as the King stood before her. Trying not to tremble. "You honor me with your presence."

While the formalities were a must in front of Aerys, he clearly wasn't in the mood. "Where are the damn servants? Or that wildling Mormont bitch, or the perverted Dornish slut?!" He grabbed a folded riding dress from the chest and threw it against the wall. "A Princess of House Targaryen, made to pick up after herself like some smallfolk tramp? Someone's head will be on a pike for this."

Unable to stomach if Dacey or Ellaria ended up executed over this, Lyanna braved the inferno of her goodfather. "Your Grace, it is nothing. I dismissed them." About to rip a pair of socks, Aerys dropped them. No longer angry, but staring at her quizzically. "I like packing for myself. It's relaxing."

Pursing his lips, to her relief the King shrugged. "Northerners. They're all mad." Aerys chuckled, looking at the image of Aegon burning Black Harren. "I was always a proper King and Prince. Squire dressed me each and every time before battle - if those under you don't know their place, they will try and destroy you. Never forget that, gooddaughter. You must show them their place, with the pit and gallows if necessary."

The exact opposite of what she was taught, but Lyanna nodded anyway. "I shall reflect on your advice and change my behavior accordingly."

"Good." Aerys didn't know what possessed him to come here. _That Red Witch doesn't know what the fuck she's talking about. As if some wolf like Lyanna could ever gain control over one of his dragon eggs…_

"I finds one!" Lyanna watched with a barely concealed dread as Rhaenys skipped out of the closet, a pair of woollen trousers clutched tight to her chest. She skid to a halt at the unfamiliar person in front of her - Aerys rarely mixed with his own children, let alone his grandchildren. Rhaenys didn't know who he was, only that he was scary. _"Muna?_"

"What is that you hold, child?"

The King's voice was calm… a deathly calm. One that put Lyanna on edge, unknowing of what he would do. "You did well, Rhae. Hand it to me…"

A raised hand stopped her cold. "I want to know what the child has brought for you." He beckoned Rhaenys closer. "Give it to your King." Looking at Lyanna, who nodded reluctantly, the Princess gingerly complied. "Homespun wool?" It was a mutter, but Lyanna could hear the dripping contempt. "Northern rags? Why did you bring this?!"

Rhaenys trembled at the shout. Sure, Kepa, her Munas, and Grandmother Rhaella would often raise their voices when she was far away or naughty, but never this… vicious. "Um… I's find riding twawsers for _muna."_

Aerys curled his lips in disgust. "Half-breed Dornish. Can't string two words together." _Wait… false dragon…_

"The Princess means that I shall be riding around Dragonstone. Learning about my husband's keep, your Grace." A bead of sweat formed on Lyanna's forehead in spite of the winter's chill.

He snorted. "A Princess doesn't ride, and neither does a Queen. My bitch mother… my…" Aerys stopped, realizing he was just about to say Jenny's name. Just the mere mention of her by even his own voice stoked his fire. "What the fuck do you think you are doing?! This little brat is already at a knife's edge of being a smelly whore like her mother!" He gestured violently at Rhaenys, who was beginning to tremble in fear. "This," he lifted up the trousers. "Wildling rags! They smell of mud… it all smells like mud and piss!"

Lyanna finds it being thrown at her, mind spinning at how this whole situation spiraled into something… dangerous. _Rhaegar… where are you?_

This woman would never be a proper dragon's wife, not if Aerys let the wolf remain within her. _My weak father let his wife walk all over him… never again!_ "My weak-willed son may condone this whorish behavior, but I will not!" The King would teach her the same lesson he taught Rhaella the night of the betrothal feast.

It wasn't just Aerys whose dragonblood pumped hotly at that moment. "Lweve _muna_ alone!" It was a loud shout, completely genuine and spontaneous from the young Princess. Utterly terrified, but instinct telling her she had to defend her new mother.

Aerys' eyes were wide with fury. "This is not your concern, brat!" he bellowed, hand shooting out to shove her to the floor. Sending Rhaenys to the ground.

Horrified, Lyanna was up before she could stop herself. "She's just a child!" A protective mother wolf, her hands grabbed at Aerys' arm. Righteous, but not wise.

His violet eyes - so loving and kind in Rhaegar and her children, but crazed and malevolent in the King - were blazing. "You dare touch me? You don't touch me!" She would never forget his reaction, when disrespect turned into something else entirely. Aerys drew back his hand and smacked her across the cheek with such force as to cause her to stumble back. Falling upon the bed. "No wildling cunt deserves to be graced by the King!"

Trembling, eyes filling with tears, Lyanna had no idea what to do. At that moment, she felt he could kill her. "Your Grace… forgive me…" But her voice only infuriated him more.

He was a blur as he lunged at her, one moment glaring at her and the next atop Lyanna, grabbing her by the throat and smacking her over and over again with a snarl. "You little bitch, you and the Dornish whore's false dragon will never have what's mine!"

Hiding behind the bed, Rhaenys had curled into a ball and cried.

Screaming, trying to block his attacks, Lyanna pleaded for salvation. _Rhaegar… help me…_

Outside, standing by the door in protective fashion, the two Kingsguards heard everything inside. It took everything within Jaime not to draw his sword and run Aerys through - each cry of pain from their beloved Princess causing him to cringe. "Can't we stop this?" he whispered harshly to Gerold.

"No." One who didn't know the Old Bull would think him emotionless, but Jaime could spot the pain in his eyes. The agony that his vows strained against his conscience.

Another cry of pain, this time from the little one. _Princess Rhaenys._ "It is our vow to protect the royal family."

What Gerold told him would haunt Jaime for the rest of his life, "Not from him." But unlike many, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard wouldn't let it continue. "Find Rhaegar, now." Jaime didn't need to be told twice before he raced off.

* * *

The compulsion for Ned Stark was to wake at the crack of an early autumn dawn. Ready for their duties, whatever they may be. But where he was now, two slender arms wrapped around his neck and soft lips melding to his, Ned honestly couldn't care about duties. "Cersei…" he breathed into her mouth as he bucked into the tight sheath of her cunt.

Cersei moaned against his lips. "Don't talk." She wanted no words, nothing to interrupt how madly wonderful she was feeling. So deliciously full. His cock thick inside her, rubbing on her sensitive spots as the heavy wool of her dress was bunched up at her waist. Hurriedly hiked up in their desperation to feel each other once more. "Please…" She got her wish when he trailed his lips down her neck. Head falling back and spearing her fingers through his hair.

Mauling her like a drowning man desperate for air, Ned doubled his pace, lips crashing together to swallow her moans. Pushing deeper as Cersei's legs looped tighter around his waist - humping furiously to take him all in. Ned grunted, her clenching channel forcing his release.

Breathing rapidly, Cersei's head fell onto Ned's shoulder. Feeling his heavy body slump against her and press into the wall… and it felt amazing. Bittersweet. An entire night of lovemaking, more bliss than she had ever felt, only to end soon. Perhaps she should have sent him out… "I can't believe I let you ruin my dress."

Ned chuckled throatily. "My sister's clothes look good on you, lioness." She couldn't very well leave the Red Keep wearing the dress she wore last night. "Rodrick Cassel will ensure you arrive at your manse without being noticed."

"I would prefer my brother do it." Her lover easing out of her, Cersei at once felt a sense of emptiness. Fighting the urge to just pull him back to the bed.

"If you want to leave without being noticed, Jaime Lannister isn't the way to go about it." Seeing her sigh, Ned kissed her brow. "I'll be remaining in the capitol for another week." This woman was turning him mad, but he couldn't keep away. "Can we…"

"Yes."

Sighing, the second son of Rickard Stark felt the weight of the last moon on his shoulders. Letting the cool air of the ocean calm his mind. It was if he was punishing himself, falling desperately for a woman who would never be his. The daughter of a man so ambitious that even a Lord of high standing or a Prince not within the line of succession would be refused without delay. _You're destroying yourself, Ned._ Both his father and his goodbrother would need him for alliances… but he knew that after Cersei Lannister, none would compare.

Watching Cersei leave, Ned simply stood there for what seemed like an hour. Retreating to the well rumpled bed where they had engaged in their amorous encounters - his first taste of a woman… Ned would remember the night for the rest of his life._ If only things were different… gods…_ But he would recognize reality. Move on he would have to do, much as he hated it.

Emerging from his chambers, Ned was just about to head to the kitchens for something to eat when Ser Jaime raced into the corridor, trailed by Ser Arthur and… "Brother!" Rhaegar's face was ashen, stricken in terror. Darting into his way, he grabbed the Prince by the shoulders. "What is going on?" The look on his face, it was as if a tidal wave was about to wipe out King's Landing.

Rhaegar blinked, frantic as he croaked out the answer. "It's Lyanna." Face going white, eyes wide in fear, Ned barely needed to glance at the others once before bolting for the royal apartments.

Ser Gerold was waiting for them. "Get inside, now." He couldn't stand up to the King, but the Prince could. Even before they entered they could hear the King's screeches. "Mine! Mine!" Aerys straddled Lyanna on the bed, hands tight around her throat. "The dragons are mine, whore!"

On him in a flash, the King thrashed about as Rhaegar grabbed him around the waist and hauled him off of Lyanna. "Father! Father!"

It was no use. Aerys had descended into a full fit, almost convulsing in his enraged delusions. "My eggs! My dragons! The wolf cunt and falseborn bitch won't steal them from me!"

Ned was by Lyanna's side in an instant. "Lya… Lya." He paled further at the dark bruises on her neck, rippling as she wheezed in needed air. "Gods." Pulling her into an embrace, Ned felt her sobs on his tunic.

"Fetch Pycelle," Rhaegar ordered, Gerold and Jaime having gotten ahold of the still ranting King. "Have him fed milk of the poppy and let his Grace recover." His father's snarls echoed through the hallway, increasingly faint. _He won't remember any of this._ This had happened before and Rhaegar knew what to do, though never had Aerys been violent during a fit.

Elia immediately appeared, face contorted in apprehension. "What in seven hells was that? I heard his Grace…" Peeking inside, she saw Lyanna in the state she was in. "Gods, Lya!" Ned just managed to get up when Elia embraced her sister-wife. Rhaegar not far behind. "I'm so sorry…"

"How…" Lyanna's voice was hoarse from tears and trauma. "How could this happen?"

"Shhh," Rhaegar soothed. "You're fine now."

Watching the loving moment, Ned heard a voice from behind the bed. Walking over, he saw a heartbreaking sight. "Princess Rhaenys?" The little girl, normally filled with life, was a trembling wreck. Tucked into a ball in the corner, shaking all over. "Come here…" She only shook harder. Ned dropped into a crouch. "It's alright, Princess. It's Eddard Stark, Lya's brother." They had only met a few times, and Ned didn't think she remembered him.

But Rhaenys, even in her agony, was smart. "_Muna_ wolf?" She pointed at the direwolf emblazoned on his leathers.

Ned nodded. "Aye. I'm your _muna's_ brother wolf." Seeing her mollified, the Princess burst into tears just as Ned picked her up - the quiet wolf merely holding her close.

* * *

The ship had left the docks of King's Landing only an hour before. Bearing the Seahorse sigils of House Velaryon, the loyal crewmen gladly complied when Rhaegar ordered them to set sail immediately - compared to runs from King's Landing to Qarth, ferry service to Dragonstone was easy. The haste had left much of their baggage still in the Red Keep to be brought over on a second voyage, but none of Rhaegar's household complained one bit. Rhaella and Rickard made sure they leave for Dragonstone at once.

For Rhaegar and Elia, it was clear before them why such action was needed. "Is she?"

Sighing from within her narrow bed, Lyanna gently pushed back the curtain of raven hair to see the serene form of the sleeping Rhaenys. "Aye, she's finally asleep." Her cheeks were puffy, tear stains marring them. It broke Lyanna's heart. "Rhaegar… I'm so sorry…" she choked out not for the first time.

Gingerly so as not to wake his daughter, Rhaegar leaned down to press his lips chastly on Lyanna's. Pouring his love and affection for his new bride. "Shhh, my love. It's not your fault… never your fault."

Standing at the foot of the cot, Elia bit her lip. Watching her family in such pain and anguish. Rhaenys had been inconsolable since Ned had first picked her up, bursting into tears every few minutes that led both her and Rhaegar to spend half an hour trying to quiet down. And Lyanna… Elia had seen many horrible things as the gooddaughter of Aerys II Targaryen, but the vibrant Lyanna Stark with hollow, emotionless eyes was likely the worst.

_Aerys would always leave me in this state…_ But looking upon the bruises on Lyanna's neck, Elia finally considered that it could have been worse. Her abuse had been nothing but verbal and emotional, never resorting to the physical. _Gods, it will only get worse…_

"I'll be the death of both of you," Lyanna sobbed as Elia tuned in back to their conversation. "I'm nothing but a liability."

Elia was quickly by her side. "Sister, don't try to understand his madness." Alone with Rhaegar, they were always candid - it didn't change with Lyanna in the room. "You'll never grasp what causes him to do what he does."

But Lyanna wasn't calming down. Her voice was a half-whimper, half-rasp and it broke their hearts. "I hoped it wasn't too good to be true… I dreamed…" Rhaegar cut her off with another kiss, this one desperate and loving. Trying to purge her of such thoughts. Elia gently caressed her arm, wishing she could do more… imagining being in Rhaegar's stead… _No, damn you Oberyn._ Ever since he put those thoughts in her head, they popped up at the most inoppertune times.

_"Muna…"_ The soft whisper broke them all out of their concentration, giving the three a heads up when Rhaenys began thrashing. "Where_ muna?!_"

"I'm here, sweetling, I'm here," Elia murmured, moving to hug her.

But Rhaenys didn't calm down. "No. Where my _muna!"_ It was only when she saw Lyanna's grey eyes that she ceased her thrashing, throwing her little arms around her. "No go, _muna_. I wuv you. No monster get you…"

She knew it was selfish in the moment - after seeing Lyanna being strangled by the King, and gods knew what vile words Aerys had screamed, Rhaenys needed to know Lyanna was alright - but it did hurt. _My babe not wanting me… wanting Lya more..._ Eyes closing, she rose. "I have to put Egg to bed." Kissing Rhaenys and Rhaegar's cheeks while squeezing Lyanna's hand. Quickly making her exit.

As Rhaenys drifted back to sleep, Rhaegar kissed their foreheads. "Goodnight, my loves…"

"No." Lyanna pulled him back down, urging him to hold her. "I'm sorry, my love. Please don't leave me… I need…" Her tears returned, strong personality fading in her vulnerability. "I can't lose any of you… I can't…"

Rhaegar's arms enveloped the both of them. "You have us… you have us till the end."

* * *

Pale moonlight streaming through the open porthole, Elia paced back and forth in the cabin. Fists balling at her sides, lips curled in a barely suppressed rage - the more she thought of it, allowed the swirling cauldron of pain and anguish and jealousy to fester within her, the more her anger simply grew and grew to replace it. _He's escalating. Rhaella hit, Lyanna assaulted, Rhaenys…_ It was an image that tore her insides out just to look at, and an image that Elia resolved never to see again. _Never again… not on my Lyanna…_ The fact she referred to her possessively didn't register, so seething was her rage.

Not hearing the steps along the hall, Elia nearly jumped when the door opened. Her husband walking in, brooding frown planted on his lips. _Of course he's brooding._ He looked so handsome when brooding, but at that anger-fueled moment Elia could only see the passivity, the introverted withdrawal of an indecisive coward. "Well?" she asked, harsher than intended. "How are they?"

"Lyanna is finally asleep. She had to hold Rhaenys, lest our daughter wake screaming." Sensing Elia's rage, he hoped mentioning their daughter would calm her - Rhaegar himself added her mood to the chorus of reasons to hate himself. "She loves Lyanna so much already, as much as she loves us. It brings me joy."

"Joy?" Already on a knife's edge, his attempt to calm her simply set Elia off. "You actually feel joy right now?!." He said nothing, stoking her anger further. She loved Rhaegar, loved him desperately, but at that moment her long suppressed rage just spewed out like a shattered dam. "Your father attacks her and you did nothing!"

Rhaegar was silent. Head hanging in shame and regret. Every bit of their energy had been spent caring for Lyanna and Rhaenys, it only made sense to him that Elia scold him now. "There was nothing I could do," he said simply. "I told the Kingsguards to protect her, but my father's health is declining…"

"He's turning into a monster. The madness consumes him, and your cowardice just puts Lyanna and our children into the way!"

There wasn't anything he could say to that. "We're going to Dragonstone. We'll be safe there."

The mighty, dashing Dragon Prince - image of Aegon the Conqueror… not as Elia saw him in her fury. "Look at you, pathetic." Any other time, saying such would leave her in physical pain, how deep her love for him. _The love we truly shared, taken away by that monster._ But all was just too much. "I don't know what lies you told yourself to excuse leaving me to the vultures, of letting your Hand spread lies to foment chaos, but I won't let you do the same to Lyanna!"

"Leave you to the vultures?" Hearing that made Rhaegar stand, his ire peaked. Eyes narrowing. "What about Connington? What in Seven Hells do you mean by that?"

"Oh, now he rises," Elia spat sarcastically.

"What in the fuck did Connignton do that you blame me for?!" he asked incredulously.

"Oh, you mean when our daughter overheard him speaking of how Lyanna was going to take her from me?" Elia smirked at his gesture of shock. "Faced with the truth of how you left me alone and unloved while your father drove a girl of five and ten close to slitting her wrists?" She watched in satisfaction as hurt crossed his features, only for the dragonfire in him to combust it into rage.

He clenched his fists. "I never denied you anything, Elia. Comfort, love, affection…"

She laughed bitterly, grinning. Smile not reaching her blazing eyes. "You really believe that, don't you? You moronic bastard. Stupid bastard! Are you just going to do the same for Lyanna as you did with me, sit around and diddle your thumb up your ass when your father kills her?!"

"I'm not going to let anything happen to either of you, not anymore!" he exclaimed hotly. Mind already being driven to the breaking point. Confronting the lies he had told himself for over a decade.

"Oh? And how are you going to do that?" She sauntered up in his face. "By burying your head in the sand and not saying a damn thing like with me?!"

"OF COURSE NOT!" he thundered, rocking the ship. The blood of the dragon in his veins was now on fire.

"Are you going to send her away? Make her sleep alone without any comfort?" Elia knew Rhaegar blamed himself for how Aerys treated her, but she was too angry to care.

"No! I'll comfort her to the best of my abilities! Like I tried to do with you!"

"You barely tried! You left me alone!"

"You forced me away!"

"I was five and ten!" Elia gasped. "I didn't know any better, I was a scared girl who needed her husband to love her, and you were never there!" She would not cry…

Neither would he… "Because it was my fault!" He punched one of the beams, shattering it into splinters and bloodying his hand. Face red with rage at her… or himself. "Your pain was my fucking fault and I have to live with that for my wretched life!"

Mere seconds of boiling tension passed before Rhaegar's hand surged forward. Elia felt fear for a split second that he would strangle her, but instead an even greater surprise as he harshly yanked her by her wavy black locks and crashed their lips together. Tongue forcing its way into her mouth as she gasped.

_Smack!_

Rhaegar stumbled back, hand shooting to his cheek, now sporting a throbbing red mark from where Elia slapped him.

Her hand throbbed, having shot up at pure instinct… but at the look in Rhaegar's eyes… a fiery intensity. Elia had seen such in Aerys, but there was no madness or violence in Rhaegar. Only heat, fire, passion… lust, love, desire. Mouth opening to yell at him, nothing came out. Tongue going dry as she gazed upon him. His stare going straight to the now uncomfortable join of her legs…

It was difficult to determine who had moved first, but in an instant their lips had crashed together violently. Rhaegar shoving her against the hull of the boat, grabbing her wrists in one hand and brutishly pinning them on the beams. Elia wasted no time with his open mouth to invade harshly. Tongue seeking out his to suck it roughly. Wetness flooding her core at feeling his cock press against her. Not only was she powerless to resist, but Elia responded so eagerly to him.

Pinning her with his entire body, Rhaegar's hand blazed down the lithe curves of his wife's figure as he took command of the kiss. Fingers reaching the portion of her dress at her core, his eyes darkened from lust when Elia simply spread her legs apart. He hiked up her dress, Elia screaming into his mouth when his fingers speared inside her.

His hand collapsing to hold up her dress, Elia wasted no time. Her fingers attacked his tunic. Needing him bare to her. The Dornish Princess felt a desperate ache to feel his skin against hers, aching to be filled... it had been so long since they last coupled. Even then, their lovemaking was only barely pleasurable. An obligation and a release. Not this… animal passion.

Just as she managed to rip his tunic off, Rhaegar stilled his fingers. _Noooo…_ Elia bucked her hips hard, trying to impale herself.

"My princess…" Normally formal or affectionate, Rhaegar's honorific for her was holding back a torrent of lust and hunger.

_My sweet husband…_ He was the perfect gentleman, but Elia needed the dragon to be awoken. Burning off her anger and his in the furious flames. Staring at him, her eyes black with desire, she dug her fingers into the hard muscles of his back. Nails raking deep gouges. Drawing blood.

It snapped whatever self-control he had left. Roaring, Rhaegar sunk his teeth into her shoulder, so consumed in lust for his Dornish beauty. _How could I deny myself this breathtaking woman?_ As with Lyanna - her beauty equal to yet different to Elia's in his mind - his dragonblood demanded that he claim her for all the world to see. Drinking in how she screamed for him, nails still raking into his back. Hands grabbing at the silk only to rip it clean off her.

A shudder coursed through Elia, in awe at how desperate her husband was for her. How he literally tore her dress to shreds._ Yes, Rhaegar, yes…_ Grabbing his shoulders tightly as he left bites along the swarthy skin of her neck and breasts. Leaving bruises as he lifted her with only a grunt. Screaming when his cock without warning thrust to the hilt in her cunt like a battering ram.

Somehow they made it to the bed without falling over as the ship rode the waves. Falling atop the sheets in a tangle of writhing limbs, kissing like starving beasts. Elia biting his lip so hard that it split, Rhaegar pinned her down and simply slammed into her. _Mine… mine… mine... _Thrusts hard and violent, claiming her that night as he had Lyanna the night before.

She clawed at his back. She bit his shoulder. She wrapped her legs tight around his waist to force him deeper. Silently screaming as his cock kissed her womb, defiling her… and Elia loved it.

Fingertips bruised her hips, Rhaegar driving hard and fast towards his release.

Teeth sunk into the muscles of his shoulder, sucking hard to drown out the ecstacy rippling through her body.

For over four years they had borne Aerys' abuse in silence. Endured hateful things that they screamed at each other. Smiling yet it never truly reaching their eyes. Burying whatever feelings and affection within them for self-preservation, all the cold, empty nights… Now, Rhaegar roaring into Elia's mouth and Elia's walls clenching tightly, they simply unleashed it all. Vented their anger, frustration, and suppressed lust in one fiery climax.

Elia gasped out a breath when Rhaegar rolled off of her. A sheen of sweat drenched her skin, bruises and love bites marring the olive-toned flesh. In spite of their past couplings being quite good, Elia had never known such pleasure - such intimacy. _Gods… this is what it should have been…_ Like Rhaegar and Lyanna's couplings, which she couldn't help but overhear the night before to her shame - and not a little arousal. Every time she heard the moans, pleas, and shrieks of total rapture… that was the real act of lovemaking, something Elia hadn't truly appreciated until now. Until she simply let loose upon her husband… _My husband…_

Before she could marshal her remaining strength to turn and face him, Rhaegar made the first move. Pulling her to him, a possessive hand wrapping around her waist. The two of them flush against each other. Elia felt a gentle kiss pressed on her forehead. "I'm sorry, Elia," Rhaegar said, voice low.

The Dornish Princess melted. Cuddling close to him. "I'm sorry as well."

"You don't need to be." Reaching down, Rhaegar tilted her head up so he could meet her glistening brown eyes. "I was so scared, Elia. Scared of what my father would do to my family that I said and did nothing…"

"Oh Rhaegar…" All anger and bitterness washed away, Elia cupped his cheek. Softly kissing his jaw. "His actions were not on you, his abuse not your fault. I was so young, but so were you." Eight and ten when they married, only a year older as Lyanna was now. "You were as much a victim of him as I was." Elia hadn't seen it when they were married - it was only years later that she noticed just how much Aerys put on his shoulder. The vitriol he faced.

His own eyes were wet with unshed tears. "I suppose I knew how much you were hurting, enough to think I was doing the right thing by keeping my distance… by punishing myself. It was my fault." He attempted to pull away, ashamed at himself and how he had hurt Elia.

But Elia refused to let him go. "No." Gently, Elia eased him into the crook of her neck. His pain and self-loathing was breaking her heart - she couldn't see him like this. _He's become everything to me… even when I was blind to it._ "You cannot blame yourself, Rhaegar. I was wrong too, please forgive me." He was quiet, too quiet and it continued to feel like a stab in the chest. "Rhaegar please… I love you." There, the truth was out.

Her world warmed again when he murmured into her shoulder. "I love you too, Elia." There they rocked together on the bed for what seemed like hours. Elia still felt the weight of their history on her shoulders, but sunlight shone on their relationship for the first time ever. "I also love Lyanna as well."

A flicker of jealousy filled her before it left. "I know, my love. I wouldn't want you not to." She pulled back, kissing her brow. "You're the blood of the dragon. If anyone can love two it is you." She cupped his cheek again. "She's getting the worst of Aerys' wrath. Promise me you'll protect her."

"I promise." Smiling wanly, Rhaegar leaned down to kiss her lips. The two of them losing themselves in their passion. "I missed you, wife." Sharing intimacy with Elia, it felt like his life was falling into place.

"I missed you, husband," Elia moaned into his mouth. Shifting to unleash a flurry of apologetic kisses upon the fading handprint on his cheek.

"I'm going to overthrow my father."

Elia continued to desperately kiss him for several seconds… only to pull away with wide eyes. "What did you say?"

"You heard me, my love." Falling exhausted to his back, wincing at the open gouges in his back, Rhaegar pulled her against his side. Relishing the feel of her nude body on his. This felt nearly right, close to the way it should have been - driving him towards the brutal truth. Towards his destiny. "It is time that I take the throne."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... we all knew Aerys would snap. Looks like this is what it took to break Rhaegar from the lie he told himself.
> 
> At least one good thing came out of it. Elia and Rhaegar finally got it all out and are back in business.
> 
> Next up, some really big drama and more smut! Be sure to comment. I might update sooner if y'all do :D


	26. Dragonstone Nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all. I know the last chapter was brutal, so this one should have more fluff, smut, and hints of future romance.
> 
> Stay safe everyone.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

The inn smelled of unwashed bodies and warm piss. Patrons downing the alcohol, scarfing down the finger food with gusto. Conversation free-flowing. "Did ya see the She-Wolf weeks ago? Beautiful lass."

"Both're beautiful."

At a meek voice referring to the Faith's prohibition on polygamy, a round of jeers followd. "Ah shut it! Prince and Princesses are mi'best."

"If I had two lasses dat pretty, I'd tell da Septon to shove it."

"To Princess Elia and Princess Lyanna!"

"To Prince Rhaegar!" an entire cheer washed over the patrons as they hoisted their drinks high. Smile tinging his face, it fell when Eddard Stark realized that Lyanna was more beloved by the people than in her own family at this point.

Unlike his sister, without a complement of guards he was an anonymous face - while a fragile ego might be put off, he was thankful. It worked to his advantage now that the walls of the Red Keep were… unreliable to keep secrets. Reaching the back of the inn unnoticed, two plainclothes men nodded to him as he opened a nondescript door. Both stalwart household guards. Amazing what five gold dragons could do to seek both the back room of the inn and the right to station one's own men from the innkeeper.

_Hopefully the King doesn't have eyes here._ Lord Arryn had warned him about the Spider, but undoubtedly this would be less dangerous than the Keep itself.

"You're late," his father said, rising from his chair from where he sat next to Brandon. A third figure rested further away… _Prince Oberyn?_

Quickly hugging both of them, Ned's eyes focused on the Dornish Prince. The man leaning back in his chair, boots resting on the table, bored. _What's your angle?_ "Had something I needed to check on… but I'm here now."

Rickard nodded. "Good."

"What is Prince Oberyn doing here?"

"Upset to see me, Eddard?" he said cheerily, smiling while he clutched at his heart. "That truly hurts."

Stone-faced, Rickard leaned back in his seat. "The Prince and I spoke and came to an understanding… that House Stark and House Martell share a common interest at this point."

Cackling - a choice between laughter and tears - Brandon smacked his palm on the table. "Oh, certainly, father. His Grace," he spat. "Assaulted and nearly strangled to death my sister." His face grew redder. "You saw the marks on her neck!" Eyes met Ned's. "You saw the King give them to her!"

Closing his eyes, Ned inhaled. "Aye, I did." Yes, he was in control of his emotions now, but a deep rage howled like a winter blizzard just underneath the surface.

Brandon, on the other hand, was close to steam rising from his skin. "That motherfucker isn't going to get away with hurting Lyanna!" He already knew what he would say to Aerys, marching to the Iron Throne and demanding Aerys 'Come out and die!' It would go into the songs of history.

"Bran, you cannot take on the Targaryen King alone. We have no power to do so." Oberyn simply sat quietly, eyes flickering around._ A dangerous enemy to have._

"We'll call the banners, champion Rhaegar's claim…"

"We will do nothing." Rickard said simply.

The heir looked upon his father incredulously, while the second son could notice Rickard holding back his emotions. "You would do nothing, father?!"

"Aye, nothing." He clenched his fists several times.

"You are wise, Lord Stark," Oberyn spoke for the first time in the conversation. "For better or for worse, House Stark is forged to the Iron Throne as House Martell is." _Much as my brother doesn't think so._ "If Aerys falls, we all fall to some hybrid monstrosity that I have no idea what will be."

Ned could only nod. It pained him greatly to have to let it go, but he did what he had to. _Lya would understand._

"I won't stand for this!" Brandon threw up his hands in the air. "The North won't stand for its daughter being abused and battered!" Ned moved to calm him down but Brandon shook him off. "I'll run my sword through the King with my own two hands…"

Only a gurgle left him as Rickard was out of his chair in a flash. Hand wrapped around his son and heir's throat, slamming Brandon into the wall. "You will do nothing!"

Choking, gasping for breath like a frog, Brandon desperately tried to escape his father's chokehold. Far younger and fitter, but transformed into a helpless child. "Our honor… her… honor… must… avenged…"

Rickard slammed a fist into his gut. "Were you always this fucking clueless?!" His face was red with anger. Eyes wide with terror and determination. "The King will fucking kill you if you challenge him! I will half-kill you with my own bare hands than see you die, do you fucking hear me?!"

Ned recognized it all if Brandon didn't. _A wolf protecting his pups._

As hotheaded as he was, when Brandon had it knocked out of his system he was the calmest person there was. "Aye…" Rickard released him, sinking to the floor in a fit of coughs.

Shaking his head, Oberyn sighed. _Doran thinks these people are a danger to Elia?_ He hadn't yet seen a single Stark that proved the old adage 'No Stark belongs south of the Neck,' wrong. Rickard was smart but unimaginative, Ned was guileless, and Brandon… _Gods, I hope that's not what I come off as._ "Our families both have very thin needles to thread."

Taking his seat again, Rickard pinched the bridge of his nose. "We're stuck with our position. Too many knives perched at our back, all but a few not by our making." _Robert… Tywin… Martells... maybe the Tyrells… Gods help us if Tywin finds out what I did._ Ned didn't blame Lyanna for what happened with Robert, but even as they patched it up, he worried about how Robert or his Stormlanders would take the slight. "Connington is our enemy, fucking buggerer," he cursed.

"They can't dare hurt the North," Ned said, remembering the histories.

Oberyn chuckled sarcastically. "Doesn't matter. They can blockade White Harbor and starve us out… or have all of you assassinated and give the North to Roose Bolton."

Pushing himself up, gingerly holding his bruised neck, Brandon looked dejectedly at his father. "So you're saying we have to stay here? While the King could kill Lyanna?"

"Lyanna is under Rhaegar's care, and I am certain he will protect her." The Master of Laws pulled out a note from inside his leathers. "He wishes Ned and I join him on Dragonstone at the end of the week."

"Just yourself and I, father?" Ned asked.

"I'm not sure that anyone else is coming…"

"I recieved such a letter as well, Lord Stark." Oberyn shrugged his shoulders. "And I can honestly say, I'm as clueless as the three of you."

"So it seems we're not alone there, but we can be sure he doesn't trust your brother to be level-headed." Glaring again at Brandon, the older Stark child shrank back in shame. "Meanwhile, we need to cement our alliance with the other Houses. Ned, you are to escort Catelyn Tully to Winterfell from Dragonstone."

While hoping against all hope that he could stay a bit longer, Ned knew this would happen. "With Benjen coming here, I know there must always be a Stark in Winterfell, but why should Bran stay?"

"Your brother is needed with me."

"Father, if Catelyn is to go North she needs me to accompany her. Ned isn't the one she has bonded with…"

"You are in need of further experience in the game of thrones, which you obviously lack," their father shot back. "Being a Lord isn't being strong or charismatic - you need wits and restraint. I can't be there to save you from yourself forever, son." He sighed, trying to calm himself. "And Ned, I'm counting on you to hold the North and prepare Lady Catelyn for her position. If you shall be named your goodbrother's Hand one day, you must be smart as well."

Torn between duty and love, Ned knew which he would have to choose. _Not all of us are lucky to have both._ "I am at your service, father." Only Oberyn among them knew what he meant, but thankfully the Dornishman kept his mouth shut.

Much later, Ned walked up the rickety stairs of the inn to the second floor - having stayed behind with what he told his family was hungry… but in truth not for food. Knocking on the door of the first guestchamber, a voice bid him entry.

"You're late," Cersei said, voice only slight cross. Truth was she was worried, and elated to see him. Both her brothers would have mocked her incessantly for sneaking out of their manse to meet a suitor in such… plebeian accommodations, but truth be told Cersei didn't care. For sex that good with a man that dazzled her so, she'd go anywhere.

Ned shucked out of his fur cloak. "You're the second person to tell me that." Unlacing his leathers, he sat on the bed next to his lover "I'll have to go back to Winterfell soon."

An intake of breath from Cersei. She was under no illusions that they would not last… but it still hurt. "How soon?"

"End of the week."

Unwilling to allow her feelings to consume her, Cersei grabbed Ned. Pulling him on top of her. "Just fuck me, Stark." _Make me forget…_

Minutes later, as his tongue lashed at her folds while she rode his mouth, Ned did just that.

* * *

The still bright orange-red cast brilliant swirls in the sky, Lyanna's squinted eyes turned from the sun towards the Lord's Chambers of Dragonstone. Running her hand along the smooth dragonglass ore that the ancient Valyrian builders forged the colonial outpost out of. They had only arrived two hours before, but already Lyanna felt at home here.

Inside, Dacey was hanging several of her dresses in the large walk-in closet. "This place needs a feminine touch, doesn't it?"

Lyanna waved her hands. "Yes, but only a little."

The lady in waiting furrowed her brows. "Isn't it a little… dark? Imposing?"

Sitting upon the massive bed, Lyanna offered a wan smile. "Aye, but that's how it's supposed to be." Her eyes glanced at the various natural swirls in the stone. "This place, it's one of a kind. The last truly Valyrian structure left in existance, one of my new House and of the blood that my children will carry in their veins." Lyanna patted her stomach wistfully.

Dacey shrugged. "I guess we Northerners aren't ones to complain. Bear Island… I doubt there's more colors than grey, green, and brown in our keep. Maybe a bit of blue?" The girls giggled at that.

The door opened at that moment and Elia breezed in. Telling her greetings to Dacey before moving to Lyanna's side. Hands going to her neck. "Are you feeling alright, sister?"

Tensing only slightly at the touch, once she processed it was Elia's soft hands Lyanna relaxed. "They're fine… just a little tender."

"Perhaps the Maester should look at them?"

"Elia, I'm fine." The concern in her sister-wife's voice heartened her, but Lyanna was a strong woman. Fading fingertip bruises were something she could handle… "I'll see him on the morrow." She bit her lip, hesitant. Truth be told, she just needed comfort.

Recognizing the same look that had plagued her for years, Elia reached forward to embrace her sister-wife. "It will be alright, Lyanna." The two women held each other gently, silently. "Everything will be taken care of."

"How…?" Lyanna murmured. "How will any of this be fine?" Her voice trembled, worry for the future vocalized. Elia had told her of the abuse she had suffered, but never had Aerys rages towards her grown violent… till yesterday…

Before Elia could answer, they heard Dacey say, "Your Grace." She curtseyed to Rhaegar, who had just arrived. The Lord of Dragonstone looked exhausted, but supremely content in light clothes and with a bundle in his arms. Ser Arthur was behind him, causing Dacey to fluster a bit.

He smiled at Dacey. "My Lady, you may turn in now, and Ser Arthur will escort you to your chambers." Blushing further, she could only nod. Door closing behind, Rhaegar drew closer to his brides, bundle in his arms now squirming. "Egg missed his munas." He noticed how worried both looked.

The worry was put aside when they caught sight of Aegon. Lyanna was at him first, taking the babe from Rhaegar's arms and cuddling him close. Kissing the little Prince's head before handing him to Elia. "I'll put him to bed, my love," she told Rhaegar, leaning over to kiss Lyanna's cheek a friendly goodnight. Moving to do the same to her husband, Rhaegar instead pulled her to a far deeper kiss, making her moan . The Prince found Lyanna smiling softly, biting her lip. The kiss lasted a little longer because of it.

Breaking it, Elia breathed a bit heavily, forehead resting against Rhaegar's. "I love you." He whispered.

"I love you, too," she replied. "Talk to her.. about it." There was no doubt what she meant. There was no need to explain that it was to be Elia who'd sleep in his chambers tonight… after what happened, it was necessary. Babe in her arms, Elia accepted it, much as she longed to share her husband's chambers, craved it. _Lucky Lyanna…_ She waved the thought away as she left for Aegon's nursery, cooing softly at him.

As soon as they were alone Lyanna launched herself at her husband. Arms squeezing his side closely and lips connecting with his. Doing their best to suffocate him in passionate intensity. His arms gently held her waist, matching the kiss with the same passion. "Oh, Rhaegar, I love you," she gasped, kiss broken and instead hugging him close.

He kissed the top of her head. "I love you too, Lya." Squeezing her hips, he smiled down at her. "Let's get ready for bed."

The two of them began to undress silently, Rhaegar unlacing his boots while watching Lyanna drop her dress - the undershift hugging her curves so deliciously. She caught his lustful stare with a smirk. "Eyes up here, lecher."

"I'm the Prince. I can stare if I want to." Boots off, he stood to remove his tunic.

Ready to appreciate him as he did her, instead Lyanna noticed the scabbing gouges in his back, mouth opening in surprise. It hadn't been she that did that. _Oh sister… you tricky bride…_ Laughing, she hugged Rhaegar from behind. Kissing the scabs. "Busy without me, my love?"

Now he hesitated. "Lya, I…"

"She's beautiful, and your wife - Elia deserves happiness. Why would I be upset?"

He took a deep breath, relieved. "You know I don't love you any less?" Rhaegar asked as he turned in her arms.

"Yes, I do." He was so beautiful, muscular and of an ethereal, divine coloring. Having to share him with a kind, loving, intelligent woman that was like a sister to her… Lyanna would take that arrangement gladly. "Love her, Rhaegar, she needs it."

Taking her lips with his, this time the kiss sweet and gentle, Rhaegar knew it was time to tell her. "Lyanna… I need to confess something." She looked at him with her grey eyes, unconditional love and trust in them. "I sent a raven from the ship to summon Ned and your father here, among others."

"Oh? I wasn't expecting to see him so soon but I can't say I'm not glad…"

"They will be here to discuss my plan to overthrow my father."

That was surprising. Eyes widening almost out of their sockets, Lyanna almost figured she didn't hear right. "Did… did you just say…?" Her head looked around, almost fearful the walls might spout ears.

Motioning to the bed, they sit down next to each other. Rhaegar taking each of her hands. "Lyanna, it's time. This perfidy has gone on too long."

"I won't let you be a kinslayer because of me."

Rhaegar shook his head. "With all luck, this will be bloodless." He reached out to stroke her cheek. "My love, the Kingdoms are on a knife's edge. Varys has told me more than he would ever tell my father… discontent has been brewing for years. Only my marriages and the desire of Mace Tyrell to marry into the royal family keeps things together… and even then... " He sighed. "Tywin is building up his forces, the Iron Islands are plotting again, Doran is fortifying his borders. And now with that oaf Robert…"

Lyanna turned away. "That one was my fault… I'm sorry, Rhaegar."

Two hands firmly clasped her cheeks, making her stare into his eyes. "No, my love. Do not blame yourself." Rhaegar averted his gaze. "The fault lays with me. I can't… continue living a lie."

"What lie?" She inched herself closer, kissing the corner of his mouth. "Tell me, my dragon."

"That I can be a dutiful son, but also do my duty as a Prince of the Realm…" Fighting the tempest of emotions that threatened to consume him, it took Lyanna's lips upon his jaw and neck to ground himself. "The time has come to end this nightmare, for all of us."

Regarding him in wonderment, Lyanna ran her fingers down his cheek, his chin, his chest. "You are the most amazing man, Rhaegar. My love, my Prince… _my King._" Not hesitating any longer, they closed the distance between them. Eager to lose themselves in each other, to bond as husband and wife.

Their lovemaking was sweet and slow that night. Rhaegar's mouth worshipping every inch of skin, Lyanna writhing in unsatiated lust. Fingers spearing in his silver hair when he pleasured her breasts - and then her core, tongue driving her to a magnificent eruption.

At her urging, Rhaegar let his beloved flip them over. Resting on his back and feeling words leave him when the gorgeous creature mounted him. Grey eyes reflecting in the final rays of dark-orange sunlight, her regarding him as one would a god… and she a goddess. "Lyanna," he gasped, feeling her sheath him inside her. Her face contorting in rapture. Gently she set a pace, one Lyanna picked up when he cupped her breasts. A rhythm kept until they exploded, him inside her and she around him. Rhaegar having pulled his beloved bride down to connect their lips as they rode their climaxes.

Feeling her husband settle behind her, a powerful arm wrapped underneath her body to tug her back flush against his muscular front. Lyanna reached to place her palm over his. Drawing it to splay over her lower belly. "I hope your seed has quickened inside me, my love." _Little Jon or sweet Visenya, I pray I shall meet you soon._

Imagining Lyanna's abdomen swollen with their babe… Rhaegar's heart hitched. "So do I." Regardless of the gulf between himself and Elia, he had been crushed when Pycelle disclosed her health would preclude a successful pregnancy, yet now the gods had granted him a second chance. "And if not," he breathed hotly against her neck. "We have plenty of time to do so."

Lyanna grinned, grinding her rump into his crotch. Biting her lip as a groan left Rhaegar. _Oh, the hold I have over this mighty dragon._ "I hope this won't be the end of our wedding night," she purred.

"You're insatiable," was Rhaegar's answer.

"You love it," she shot back, grinding yet again.

"That I do." Dropping kisses on her bare, creamy shoulders, it was Lyanna that groaned now. "I gather you are tired?" Smirking against her skin, a hand slid to cup her bare breast.

Lyanna hissed, the Crown Prince's fingers playing with her sensitive nipple. "Did I ever say I wanted to sleep tonight?" Gone was the shy maiden. Now a sultry, demanding she-wolf in heat. Suddenly, she felt teeth sinking into her shoulder. "Biting, your Grace?"

"Aye… your fault." Rhaegar pulled Lyanna on her back. Letting his silver locks frame his face. "Irresistible and delicious you are, Lyanna Targaryen." Her eyes darkened with a sudden lust at his words. "You like that?" he grinned.

A rush of wetness filling her channel, Lyanna could only nod. "Yes." She bucked her hips, begging silently…

He rewarded her by slipping deep inside her. "Lyanna Targaryen..."

* * *

"You've been a bit glum, dear brother."

Leaning back against one of the stone columns that marked off the large promenade of Aemma's Walk, build high above the cliffs of Aegon's High Hill - protected by the lower walls, it was said that Viserys I had it constructed so that his wife Aemma Arryn could enjoy the high winds lost to her when she left the Eyrie - Jaime closed his eyes. Looking up at the orange-purple haze of sunset. "Why do I ever come to you, Tyrion?"

His little brother chuckled. "Because of my charming company, of course." Two warning eyes shot him a glare. "What? If I wasn't such a good distraction from the ails of the world, why else would my family visit me?"

"Could it be that I just want some quiet time?"

Another chuckle. "If that is what you wish, you picked the wrong person, Jaime. Uncle Kevan barely says a word to his own wife, but he's not here. Father… possible but he'd just scold you about taking the white…"

Jaime slapped his palm against the stone. "Would you please shut up?" His head pounded, making his grimace and clutch his temple.

Tyrion, never one to take advice, only peered at him. "It seems my suspicions are confirmed." He placed a gentle hand on his brother's knee. "Jaime…"

"Is this seat taken?" Nary a word was said before Cersei merely plopped down beside Tyrion, not even looking at him.

"Um… no, it's not taken," the Imp replied, though the answer was moot. "Would you like a glass of…"

He wasn't allowed to finish before Cersei grabbed the entire flagon of wine and poured herself a cup. Wasn't the first time she did that to Tyrion and wouldn't be the last. "What in gods' names are you doing here of all places?" she asked bluntly. "Jaime refused to go to the brothel, I bet."

Her twin glared at her - he was always the white knight for Tyrion growing up, holding a soft spot for his 'little brother.' Tyrion, meanwhile, only coyly sipped his wine. "Oh Cersei, I'm not a complete degenerate. A boy of five and ten out in the capitol alone? The pimps and madams would rob me blind." He reached out to pat both of them on the shoulder, Cersei surprisingly not wrenching it away. "Just the two Lannister boys enjoying a drink in the one place father would never go anymore. And now it's the three Lannister siblings doing such." Now it was his turn to eye Cersei over… her face was oddly flush. "But what brings you here?"

Cersei blinked. "Why do you ask, dwarf?"

Tyrion pursed his lips. _She only calls me that when she's very mad… or hiding something…_ "Call it curiosity." From beside him, Jaime hauled himself into an upright sitting position, also curious.

"I was here to inform Lord Connington that we're departing on the morrow," she said, not at all convincingly.

"Hmmm, that would be fine except that father already told him this morning." _Damn._ "And, how would that cause your hair to be disheveled?" The normally immaculate Cersei Lannister's golden locks were hastily put together, many strands wild and out of place. _Seven hells… damn him and his obsession with my hair._ Cersei secretly loved how Ned would constantly run his fingers through her hair, but he was just asking for something like this. "I mean, Connington's tastes run in a different direction, so… may I presume Eddard Stark is one happy man right now?" Tyrion grinned.

"What?!" Jaime's jaw dropped. Bad mood forgotten. "Eddard Stark?" He no longer was interested in Cersei that way, but as a brother it shocked him. "You and that…"

The lioness flushed further. "Shut up, Tyrion… care to blab to Aerys next? Or father?" she hissed. "And I don't like your tone, Jaime."

Her twin raised his hands in surrender. "Didn't mean it like that, but, really? You and a second son? I mean, I told you to stop pining after Rhaegar but I didn't think you'd fancy someone father wouldn't at all accept."

Cersei was getting more annoyed. "Oh, and you're one to talk, brother." Her lips curled into a smirk. "Pining after Queen Rhaella like a lost puppy." Unlike her brothers, she kept her voice low so that only they could hear.

"Excuse me, what?!" Tyrion spat out his wine - hopefully not splattering some unlucky guard below.

"It's obvious to anyone that watches you close enough. You seem to have a fancy for taboo love, twin brother." It was her turn to enjoy herself by tormenting them. "Is it completely unrequited or are you cuckolding the King?"

"I don't want to talk about it!"

There was a slight silence, the three of them just staring at the ocean - as domestic a moment between the three siblings as they ever had. "Well," Tyrion mused. "Makes my transgressions at the Lannisport brothel look positively peachy." He downed the rest of his wine. "Sorry sister, I didn't mean to pry too hard."

What she said next surprised him greatly. "Tis fine, Tyrion." She was surprised too at the… somewhat kind words. _Ned is rubbing off on me._ They had only been lovers for a week. "I'm not exactly planning a wedding myself - the particulars of my situation are not unknown to me." _You chose a lover that can never be yours, nor he mine._ The sooner she accepted it, the sooner she could move on. One last roll in the hay that day, it would have to stay with her forever.

"Nothing happened between myself and…" he trailed off. Jaime sighed. "I didn't plan on it happening, gods. Who would wish this?"

"No one who wants to keep their head," Tyrion answered. "But she's a good woman, I really can't blame you. If she outlives her husband…"

Jaime shook his head. "This is more hopeless than Cersei and Ned Stark. It would never happen… and the chance his Grace kills her first is higher than anyone would want." There was no stopping the news of Lyanna's beating at the hands of the King. It had already infected the rumor mill, probably halfway to Oldtown by now. "I am a Kingsguard. I must fulfil my oath."

"Even if she throws herself at you?" Cersei asked. "You're a dashing knight, I am certain she's thought of it, never truly meeting her notwithstanding."

"I'm certain." Jaime tried not to be fatalistic… but it was something Tywin passed to each of his children.

Tyrion chuckled dryly. "To the Lannister siblings. Gorgeous and charming, yet hopeless with the opposite sex." That was something each of them could drink to. "I think I'm going to stay here."

Cersei eyed him. "Death wish, Tyrion?"

"Your concern overwhelms me, sister, but no. I think I may apply to work for Lord Rickard, learn a proper skill. And who knows?" He grinned at Cersei. "I could put in a good word for you." Jaime actually laughed at that.

It took everything in Cersei not to shove Tyrion off the side… though part of her hoped he actually did so.

* * *

Only a crescent sliver of the moon illuminating the dark chambers, Lyanna shot up in the bed. Ears hypersensitive, head cocking to the side. Something was wrong, something big that had stirred her from here serene sleep. "Rhaegar." Lyanna nudged him gently, causing his muscular form to shift. "Rhaegar, wake up."

"Nnnngh…" her husband groaned. "Go back to sleep." He turned over and pulled the pillow over his head. Dragons weren't nocturnal creatures.

Suddenly, Lyanna heard it again. Eyes widening at what it was. "Rhaegar!" she thumped him harder, causing the Prince to thrash in the bed. "Get up!"

Thinking this was one of the drills Barristan had put him through, Rhaegar was blindly reaching for his sword before reality settled back in. "Lyanna… what's going on?!" His heart was pounding.

"It's Rhaenys." She didn't know how she knew, but Lyanna did. She was already throwing on her shift and robe, racing out of the room. Yanking up his pants, Rhaegar was hot on her heels.

Lyanna turned out to be right. As they opened the door to the hallway, the blood-curdling screams coming from the open nursery drove them further - faces twisted in fear and concern. Lyanna entered first, seeing the two nursemaids trying to comfort Rhaenys… and failing miserably. "Gods, what is this?" Rhaegar exclaimed.

Seeing their bare-chested Prince, the maids both fell to their knees. Rhaenys, on the other hand, reached out frantically for Lyanna. _"Muna! Muna!"_

Ignoring the maids, Lyanna raced to her daughter. Picking her up and cuddling her close. "Shhh… it's alright sweetling. _Muna's_ here." The girl looked up at her with tear-stained cheeks before burying her face in her shoulder - sobs wracking her body. It broke Lyanna's heart. "How long has this been going on?"

Both trembled under the harsh glare of the She-Wolf. "About ten minutes or so, Princess."

"What?!" Lyanna was livid.

Rhaegar didn't blame her. "And you didn't summon me or their mothers?"

There was hesitation. "We didn't wish to disturb you, your Grace, nor Princess Rhaenys' mother and Princess Lyanna."

"The future King and Queens shouldn't concern themselves with such things," the other added.

Whether Lyanna was more infuriated at that statement or by them not referring to her as Rhaenys' mother, she didn't know. "Get. Out," she ground out.

"Your Grace…"

"You heard her, out!" thundered Rhaegar. Faced with the dragon, they both scurried out. Rage fading, he found his bride and their daughter, Lyanna softly cooing and rubbing Rhaenys' back. Rhaegar embraced the both of them as she still sobbed. "Oh, my little dragon…"

_"Kepa?"_ murmured Rhaenys between sobs.

He kissed the crown of her head. "Yes, little dragon, it's me."

"Don't go!" she wailed. "Bad men come back!" His eyes found Lyanna's, both confused.

At that moment Elia appeared in the door. Dressed only in a wrinkled shift. "I heard screaming… Rhaenys!"

The young Princess even more forcefully reached out for her birth mother. _"Muna, muna!"_ Taking a step aside, Rhaegar allowed Elia to envelop their daughter with Lyanna, Elia kissing her head over and over while the northern beauty kept rubbing her back. "Bad dweam… Bad men hurt me."

Elia wore heartbreak on her face. "Who were these men?"

"They big and mean. Hurt Egg, then you, _muna_, then big knife…" She sobbed harder. "Monster made them."

"Monster?" asked Lyanna, close to tears herself. Rhaegar had taken a seat across from them, head in his hands.

She nodded strenuously. "Black shadow… like a dwagon, but fwire green…" Rhaenys dissolved into her cries.

"Aerys?" Lyanna asked her sister-wife in a whisper.

The Dornish Princess nodded. "Green fire. He's known for experimenting with wildfire… the others I don't know." Elia pressed her cheek to Rhaenys' raven curls. The presence of her natural mother finally calming her.

"It's my fault." Rhaegar stood, hugging the three of them tightly. "I'm so sorry, my loves."

While his words only hurt his wives further, it was Rhaenys who spoke first. _"Kepa_… don't go…" Rhaegar settled in, the four of them simply swaying gently and letting Rhaenys' cries lessen.

But when they tried to set her back into her crib, Rhaenys refused to let go of Lyanna. "Sweetling…" She couldn't let the poor girl be so hurt. "Would you like to sleep with _muna_ and _kepa_ tonight?" Rhaenys nodded vigorously.

The royals made their way out of the nursery. "Please take care of her, tonight, sister," Elia said, thinking Rhaenys would want to sleep with only Lyanna, like on the boat.

Only Rhaenys had other plans. "Muna!" she shrieked as her presence faded. "No go!" She wriggled so much that Lyanna was afraid she'd drop her. The mere thought of being without her natural mother was terrifying. Lyanna wasn't in danger. That she knew. "Pwese! _Muna!_"

"Little dragon, _muna_ needs to sleep..." Rhaegar explained but was cut off.

"No go!" There was no placating her. "Stay wif' _kepa_ and _muna._"

Both women blushed bright red, Rhaegar rubbing his neck awkwardly. "Well… we can't really refuse her, can we?" the Prince said.

Eyes shifting from Rhaenys, to each other, to Rhaegar, and back to each other, Lyanna shrugged as Elia deflated. "Alright, sweetling." She merely murmured and snuggled deeper into Lyanna.

To say it was awkward would be an understatement. The bed, once holding Aegon the Conqueror and his wives, was more than big enough for the four of them - but space wasn't the issue. After snuggling with her _kepa_, Rhaenys demanded to be placed between both Lyanna and Elia. Soon drifting off to sleep without even a whimper, her father joined soon after.

Lyanna and Elia faced each other. "I wonder if this is how Maegor's first three brides felt," Lyanna said softly.

"I don't think they slept in the same bed," Elia whispered. "The conquering trio did though…" she trailed off, both women knowing that sleeping wasn't the only thing those three did.

"How does a woman… do that?" Lyanna asked hesitantly. Her knowledge of matters sexual was… quite limited. Relegated to her books and observing Brandon with various smallfolk women.

This caused Elia's blush to redden, visible even in the low moonlight. "Ellaria says… they mostly use finger and tongue" Foreplay for Rhaegar - who was quite excellent at it - but the main event in the case of two women. "It works for some. My great aunt, she only had female lovers..." Elia bit her lip, trailing off.

An action mirrored by Lyanna. "I don't think I could do without a man, though."

"Me neither." As if bidden, Rhaegar turned over, a hand wrapping around Lyanna's waist. "He loves you."

Lyanna reached over to stroke Elia's cheek. A sisterly gesture - but one that caused a tingle in her hand… and core. "He loves you too." She gave a ghost of a smirk. "I, uh, heard you on the boat."

Elia's eyes widened. _Oh gods… "_I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, I'm glad you're happy, sister." They were both silent for a moment. "We both love him, and I can't bear us to feud."

Elia shook her head. "It would kill the family." _Perhaps we should all sleep here…_ "Alright, alternate nights. You once, then me the next day."

"A sensible compromise, though miss him I will." Lyanna yawned in spite of herself. "Goodnight, sister."

"Goodnight." Letting sleep take a hold of them, neither noticed that their hands clasped together before they drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... there was some really awkward sexual tension, lol. A start of something big? ;)
> 
> Rhaenys in the last chapter wasn't pushing Elia away. She just wanted to know that Lyanna was alright... therefore what happened tonight.
> 
> Was fun writing the Lannister siblings having a... normal conversation for once. All of them. Ned is good for Cersei, it appears.
> 
> Next up, Rhaegar invites the conspirators to Dragonstone, and a plan forms. If I can get 40 comments by Saturday then I'll update then :D


	27. Treason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The promised update. I love all the comments :)
> 
> Stay safe everyone.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

By the thanks of the old gods, Prince Aegon's cries began to settle. The gentle swaying of Lyanna's arms acting perfectly to calm him down once his swaddling clothes were changed. "Oh sweet Prince," she murmured, rocking him back and forth. "You love your new _muna_, just like your father."

Aegon babbled as he snuggled against Lyanna's chest. Such a precious babe… You'll be an amazing big brother. "Perhaps I have one right now in _muna's_ tummy." _A Prince of the Realm, son of Crown Prince Rhaegar. Grandson of…_

She stilled, the small bit of refuge from being with Egg destroyed. Attacked by my own goodfather. The bruises on her neck were fading, but the aftermath remained. Her own husband plotting to take the throne - plotting treason. _Treason._ She shook her head of the thoughts before one of Rhaegar being beheaded could destroy her. Lowering herself to the rocking chair, Lyanna just sat there. Egg in her arms, silent…

Only for a pair of arms to wrap around her shoulders. "My love."

Lyanna sighed, slight tension turning to relief and love. "My Prince."

Rhaegar leaned in to kiss her neck - he didn't miss how she first tensed up. "Where are Elia and Rhae?" Given the fact that the hallways were actually quiet, he knew his daughter would be elsewhere.

"Mmmm…" moaned Lyanna, always enjoying his lips on her skin. "They're walking by the beach."

Placing another flurry of kisses upon her neck and cheek, Rhaegar noticed the almost... melancholy underneath Lyanna's sighs and giggles. On the outside, she went by her duties as his loving wife, but he knew just how to read her. _Solitary rides, countless time spent with the children, grasping and desperate when we make love…_ Not that he complained about the latter, but Rhaegar's heart broke at her putting on a facade to hide her pain.

_My father…_ It all laid in the man who called Rhaegar his son - Lyanna on some level blamed herself for what happened to her… no, not it. She had initially, but talks with Elia and passionate kisses all across her body from Rhaegar himself seemed to kill that falsehood. No, what Lyanna's pain referred to had to be worry. Shame at being the cause of his plotting treason against his own family.

_I have to get her mind off of it until they arrive from the capitol… let her ease her tension…_ A grin curled on his face, lights going off in his head. "My love. I think Egg needs his sleep."

Sensing the… resolve in his voice, Lyanna only nodded. "Alright, little pup. Time for your nap." Kissing the chubby cheeked infant, she laid Aegon gingerly in his crib. "Sleep well." Passing her husband to the doorway, her mood couldn't help but improve at Rhaegar's look of love.

Leaving a kiss on Aegon's tiny head, pinching a cheek as his son tried to smack his nose, Rhaegar quickly grabbed Lyanna by the wrist. "You're coming with me."

Her brows knit in confusion. "Where are you taking me?"

"You need to blow off some tension."

She peered at the back of his head, intrigued. It clearly wasn't sex. _I'd have been pinned to the wall by now if it was._ "And what would that be?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Rhaegar!" Lyanna shouted incredulously. "I want to know."

He gave her a wicked grin, and that moment she forgot about what was bothering her. "I can tell you that it's lucky you didn't change from your riding breeches."

Black hallway after black hallway passed by them. Lyanna tried not to get lost, memorizing each passageway by the various murals etched upon them. Tales of Valyrian history, battles of the great dragonlords focused on House Targaryen. _Westerosi have tapestries on their walls sometimes… but nothing like this._ Winterfell would have looked amazing with such decorations. Each served as a reference point to keep her way.

"You'll get used to it, your Grace," Barristan said behind her, smiling.

She returned the smile. "Do you happen to know where Rhaegar is taking me?"

"Don't try and pick the brain of my guards," Rhaegar said over his shoulder.

"He's my guard," Lyanna shot back.

A chuckle. "I'll exercise my discretion to remain silent, Princess." Lyanna rolled her eyes at Rhaegar's laugh. _Cheeky bastard… but I love him._

Eventually, they emerged in a large central courtyard, almost like the training yard of the Red Keep… Lyanna suddenly caught a sparring sword that Rhaegar tossed at her. "You fight with a longsword, right, Lya?"

Her eyes flickered to the sword and then back to her husband. "Rhaegar, what is this?"

He smirked, assuming his stance. "Assume your stance, Ser Weirwood. Your Prince commands it."

Lip curling into a proper smirk, she twirled the blade in her wrist. _I love you so damn much..._ Half crouching, feet rooted firmly on the ground. "Your move, my Prince."

"Come on, _muna!"_ Rhaenys called from in front of her. "Wanna show _kepa_ the stone I's found!" In her hand she held a lump of glittering dragonglass, found at the maw of a cave leading into the cliff overlooking the beach. She was excited.

"I'm coming, sweetling," Elia called out. Children were delicate, but also resilient. The nightmares that plagued her about what she witnessed with Aerys and Lyanna were starting to diminish, and now that she was back home, Rhaenys' active and energetic self was emerging once again. "She'll be the death of me," she told Oswell.

"Ser Barristan says she's much like her father was at that age."

Her heart caught a little, imagining a tiny Rhaegar with silver curls bouncing as he laughed and played. "I wouldn't doubt it… but I can see much of my brother in her, and that worries me." _A regular maneater, Rhaenys will be._ "Now, all we need is to find the Prince… you don't happen to know where he is, Ser?"

Oswell shrugged. "He could be anywhere. Would Lady Ellaria or Lady Dacey know?"

"They might, but I haven't seen them since I woke up… Ah, Ser Arthur," Elia called out, thankful for finding someone who would know where her husband and sister-wife were in the absence of both Ladies in Waiting. "Have you happened to see his Grace?"

The Sword of the Morning was not a very good liar, and he didn't try - merely smirking. "Follow me, Princess. Princess Rhaenys. I think you'll enjoy this." A wink to Rhae made her giggle, skipping ahead of the both of them.

A clashing of steel registered in Elia's ears. _What could this be?_ She picked up her pace, matching Arthur's long strides. But Rhaenys was faster than both of them, and had already reached the railing overlooking the training yard. "_Muna!_ Come see!" she jumped up and down excitedly. "It's _Kepa_ and _Muna!"_ It was as if her day was made.

Peeking around for a glimpse, lo and behold Elia witnessed her husband and sister-wife in the midst of a heated sparring session. Sweat soaking their skin and clothing even in the icy chill of Blackwater Bay. "This is what you were smiling of, Arthur?"

The soft-spoken Knight and her childhood friend only winked. "They've been going at it for an hour now. Princess Lyanna loses every set but she refuses to give up." Just as he said, Lyanna clearly was worse for wear, but every setback just brought her howling like a direwolf back into the fight. For Elia it was fascinating to watch...

Attempting to spin a slash, the light blow of steel to her side jolted Lyanna. Losing her footwork and felling her right on her ass. "Owww."

"Dead," Rhaegar announced, glancing down on her with a haughty smirk. "Need some help, _Princess?"_ He was clearly enjoying himself at her expense.

Lyanna rubbed her bruised bottom - and not the pleasurable bruises of their lovemaking. "I need no help from you," she spat petulantly, groaning as she tried and failed to haul herself up. Reddening in the face but her resolve collapsing. "Rhaegar…" Her voice was soft, pleading.

His heart melted. Grabbing her hand and hoisting her up with ease. "You are skilled, my love. I'll give you that."

"And yet I lose to you," she murmured. Her training at Winterfell and actually taking down the squires had made her cocky - Rhaegar's ease at which he outmatched her humbled Lyanna.

"You fight the northern way. More flexible and quick than a southern knight, but still brutish. You can't win brutishly. Know your enemy's weaknesses and then exploit it specifically."

Furrowing her brows, Lyanna nodded. She wasn't ever going to outmatch Rhaegar in strength, so the female Mormont style was the proper counter. Agility, speed, almost graceful in how they handled a sword. _I'm trying that and I can't get it…_ Lyanna realizes that with more training she'd do better, but she wanted to rub that smirk off Rhaegar's face...

"Seems we have an audience," Rhaegar said with a tinge of amusement. She looked where he was and found Arthur, Oswell… and more importantly Elia and Rhaenys. The latter was jumping up and down with excitement while the former was leaning against a black Valyrian column, simply relaxed

"Go _muna!"_ Rhaenys whooped, clapping her hands.

Lyanna blew her a kiss while Rhaegar frowned. "Traitor."

_"Kepa_, let _muna_ win."

"Yeah _kepa,"_ laughed Elia. "Let her win."

"Don't you dare let me win, husband. Do you want to couple with me again?" Her eyes narrowed. He only held her hands up in surrender.

Rhaenys furrowed her brows. "What couple wif _muna_ and _kepa?"_

Elia glared down at the two of them before turning to Rhaenys. "Sweetling, it means kiss."

She grimaced. "Ewww, now ooglie booglies."

Fighting back giggles, Lyanna moved to her stance again, ignoring the aching in her arm. "This time you lose, Rhaegar."

"Good luck with that," he replied, twirling his sword and lunging.

Lyanna dodged nimbly, swinging her sword at Rhaegar's hip - his blade rose up with a jerk of the wrist, parrying. She gritted her teeth and spun her sword into both hands and struck from above at his shoulder. He parried this assault with ease. Teasing smirk upon his lips feuling her ire. Growling like a wolf, she charged in.

"Wow," Rhaenys gasped. Her eyes were wide, Princess occasionally tugging on her other parent's dress to watch. But Elia needed not any urge to watch… she was entranced by the spar. Her husband's muscles flexing and heaving underneath his skin-tight tunic, hair pulled up in a bun that she just wanted to run her fingers through while he fucked her… but her eyes often drifted to Lyanna. The woman that had taken her husband's heart and yet also brought him and Elia herself closer together… how graceful she was in her attacks. Feelings returning in Elia that she felt every night Rhaenys made them all sleep in the same bed. Fierce, wild, beautiful, desireible. She couldn't tell which was more beautiful… and it stumped her.

Steel clanged against steel in a vicious song between the two lovers. Lyanna felt the fatigue begin to consume, chest heaving and muscles burning under her skin. The cold invigorated her, numbing the pain slightly, but she felt disheartened at Rhaegar's seeming nonchalance on his comely face. _Time to end this._

Snarling, she lunged for his stomach. Parried easily, Rhaegar moved to slash at her when Lyanna darted close and brushed his crotch with the back of her hand. Hypersensitive to the touch of his love, Rhaegar stilled for just a moment. She took the opportunity to dart a kiss on his lips before a swipe of her sword knocked his legs out from under him, sending Rhaegar to the ground.

It was her turn to stare down with an arrogant smile. Blade leveled above her husband's heart. "Seems that I am the winner here, Rhaegar Targaryen."

Rhaegar snorted, shaking his head with a crooked smile. "You cheated, Lya."

"Oh?" Lyanna batted her eyes innocently, but didn't remove the sword from pointing at his chest. "And how would I have cheated?"

"You used my desire for you to distract me."

"Didn't you tell me to know your opponent's weaknesses? Aren't I your weakness?" His jaw dropped slightly, causing her to laugh. "See." Still triumphant, Lyanna dropped the sword and held out her hand to help Rhaegar up… only to yelp as he pulled her down on his chest. "What are you doing," she giggled.

He circled her waist. "You are one crafty little wolf, Lyanna Targaryen."

"This surprises you?" she grinned.

"No… just make sure you only work that trick on me."

"Perhaps…" suddenly he kissed her, and all further thought was off the table with a moan.

Once eager to watch, Rhaenys turned away. "Ewww, _muna._ Oogly booglies!"

Elia laughed - though no one noticed it only reached her eyes. "Come on sweetling, let's get you something to eat." She walked in a daze from the experience, enchanted by both of them. How simply beautiful they were, both apart and together. The thoughts came unbidden, unwanted, thinking of how natural her spouses were in their love. How she had never had such… even now. _Would Rhaegar have ever loved me without her…_

_Would Rhaegar only give me the love she allows him to give…_ Shameful as the single moment's thought was, Elia at least knew for certain that her worries were baseless. _Were they…?_

* * *

A slight wind blew around the ship as the cold winter's night descended over Blackwater Bay. The hull of the Celtigar carrack kept most of it out, but even still Jon Connington could see his fogged breath. It made for a useful distraction from the loathing he felt for his current companion. "Therefore, my Lord, your services as trial judge will not be required," Rickard told him, a slight triumph in his normally dour, brooding voice.

_I'll show you where you can shove your triumph…_ As befitting a proper Lord of his station, Connington merely quirked a bushy red eyebrow. "I see… and who shall you appoint to be judges in the cases before the King's Justice? I highly doubt even someone as indefatigable as yourself could handle the sheer volume."

There was a slight tensing of Rickard's muscles - inside, it was now Connington that felt triumph at getting under his rival's skin. "No, I am far too busy. We will have a sliding scale of professional magistrates. Pit and Gallows may work for a holdfast or small town, but not for someplace that could fit twelve White Harbors inside of it." No one could accuse Rickard of not being prepared.

But Connington could flesh out his angle. "So I take it you'd be the man appointing these judges?"

"With approval from his Grace, of course." The ever so smug smile on the northerner's face was evident. "Oh, I've decided to take on Tyrion Lannister as one of my aides."

This was shocking. "Dare I ask if this is wise, considering his Grace's feelings to that family?" It seemed too good to be true that Rickard could end up being embroiled in Aerys' delusions about Tywin…

"Tywin blames Tyrion for his wife's death, so I would assume the enemy of my enemy is my friend?"

Cunning bastard. Luckily, they were at his quarters. "I'll forward the names of some qualified lords to sit on tribunals." Not that Rickard would even look at them. "Upon the morrow, Lord Stark."

"Likewise, Lord Connington." It satisfied him so much to shut the door in Rickard Stark's face.

"Oh, if I could be rid of that meddlesome northerner," Connington drolled, yawning. He stretched his arms above his head as he settled down into the rather plain cot for the evening - needing his rest for the journey to Dragonstone. To answer the call of Prince Rhaegar.

_Prince Rhaegar…_

As Jon pulled the thick blanket over him, his thoughts drifted to the same place as they had the tendency to do. Where they naturally fell ever since he had first laid eyes on the Valyrian beauty of the Crown Prince. Connington couldn't deny the attraction he felt for his friend of years. Someone he would never have, yet one whose orbit he was unable to break away from. _Maiden, Mother, why must you torture me so?_

Tossing on his side while pulling the sheets over him, as he drifted to sleep, Connington felt his body become aroused as thoughts of the Prince continued to fill his mind. The only refuge for the forbidden, torturous thoughts...

_As Connington walked between the columns of the throne room, he noticed the dearth of people. Sun high in the sky, holding court should have been in full swing with lines of petitioners to see the King, but there didn't seem to be anything taking place._

_He stopped in his tracks just before the Iron Throne, suddenly spotting Rhaegar sitting pon it. He tapped his fingers impatiently - the ruby and Valyrian steel crown of Aegon the Conqueror on his head. Connington gulped. He looked magnificent._

_"What do you want, Lord Hand?" Rhaegar asked sarcastically, finally deigning to look at the man who had appeared before him. "My time cannot be wasted on contrived offal."_

_"Your Grace…" Jon replied, kneeling in front of the Iron Throne. "My fealty and devotion are yours to weild and command against them."_

_The newly crowned King's eyebrow rose, pursing his lips. "That does please me, Jon." Him using Connington's given name, he sounded... different, almost sultry. It was electrifying. "With the betrayals of all those close to me, it is gratifying to know someone realizes who I am."_

_"I know who you are - the Last Dragon, reborn to reclaim the power of your ancestors."_

_Rhaegar stood up from the chair of swords and walked over to the kneeling man, putting a hand under his chin. "Look at me," Rhaegar said, his voice soft. Jon looked straight into the violet eyes of the King, the same eyes that had enchanted women and men alike. "You have been loyal to me when no one else would."_

_"You deserved it all and more, my King." What else could he say?_

_Jon was then suddenly caught off-guard by the feeling of Rhaegar's lips on his. Caught off guard by the ferocious dragon that occupied the throne. Moments passed before he finally responded, kissing him back and grabbing onto the smooth silver hair._

_As he pulled back, there was still an intensity in Rhaegar's eyes. Ones Connington had only seen directed at Lyanna or Elia… but now at him. "I've been blind, for too long, my dear Jon."_

_The words, and the hidden meaning behind them, drove Connington mad with lust. "Your Grace…" His hands instinctively went to places where he had always dreamed of going. "Allow me to show you the depths of my devotion."_

_A dark smirk clouded Rhaegar's expression before suddenly, he threw Connington at the Iron Throne. Effectively bending him over atop it. "Perhaps I should take what I always should have desired instead?"_

_"My King, please," he gasped. "I want to know what it feels like." Hearing him come behind, Connington reached out to grasped Rhaegar's length, only to have his arms pinned above him with the King's wrists._

_"Keep them there, don't you move," Rhaegar snarled into Jon's ear. "You want this?"_

_"Yes...please...my lord," Jon breathed heavily. "Please, I need you." At the sound of armor being dropped to the floor, he finally had everything he could ever desire..._

A knock on the door startled him away, eyes opening… only to groan as sunlight streamed through the portholes. "Lord Connington?" a flat, musical voice asked.

Still in the shadow of his erotic dreams, Connington groaned. _Why must he… shit…_ Imagining his silver-haired Prince, apparently his seed had spilled sometime in the night. "One moment!" he barked drowsily, rising. Throwing on a new pair of breeches before opening the door. There stood Lord Varys, hands clasped in front of him. "What do you want, Varys?"

"I've come to say we are about to reach Dragonstone's shores." Craning his head to the side, he spotted the soiled trousers on the floor. "Nocturnal release, Lord Hand?"

Connington's eyes narrowed. "Best shut it, eunuch."

"Dreaming about our Prince again?" There was silence. "Don't think I'm not aware of how you feel for him. You say his name in your sleep."

"Did you hear this with your own ears?" The rumor was widely known enough to make concealing it impossible.

"Ears I own," Varys replied calmly. "You play a very dangerous game, Lord Hand."

"Since when did you care about my welfare?"

Varys gestured to be let in, and reluctantly Connington let him. "I've seen you more than you've seen me in the past few weeks… not all times vicariously, mind you. Such intrigues me… especially your dealings with Lord Stark."

An eyebrow rose, face guarded. "And why should that be a surprise? I am the Hand, he is the Master of Laws."

Lies were useless on Varys… he seemed to know all. "Lord Hand, it is obvious that you are a bold man. Not playing the charade of wives and children that most others of your… inclination, are wont to do."

"I don't have to explain myself to you, Varys, now please get to the point." Hearing all of this, it was driving him mad.

"You hold out hope, Lord Hand. Do try and let it go and move on, lest the Realm bleed for it." The Master of Whisperers made his way to the door. "We have less than an hour, so I suggest you rush." Soon the door closed, leaving Connington alone with his thoughts.

* * *

With a gentle thud of the closing door, only Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan remained inside the gathering of some of the realm's finest minds and strategists standing around the Painted Table. "Alright," Rhaegar said, standing at the head of the table where Aegon the Conqueror had once stood. "Shall we begin?"

"It would be our honor to do so, our Grace," said Lyanna, taking the space to Rhaegar's right where Queen Visenya had presumably stood. To his left was Elia, her Dornish gown not one likely worn by Rhaenys but otherwise a perfect comparison.

Rhaegar glanced at both of his brides. "Let us be seated." He saw their eyes radiate encouragement, pride even… and just a hint of lust. A smirk played just on the edge of his lips. _How many times did Aegon take his wives on this table? How many times will I?_ Gods, these women would be the death of him. "I presume you wish to know why I summoned all of you here."

"That was our main concern, yes." To the surprise of the royals, it was dour Ned that answered. While hugging his sister warmly, a sense of gloom seemed to radiate about him. Rhaegar suspected it was due to being forced to depart from his family in going back to Winterfell, but when speaking to Lyanna she sensed it was something more. "Does it have something to do with what transpired between his Grace and my sister?"

Catching Lyanna's wince and Elia's sigh, Rhaegar glanced at all the men gathered here. Rickard Stark sat between his son and his daughter, also covered in suppressed anger - Oberyn took a seat beside his sister as well, looking bored. Jon Arryn sat across from his fellow Lord Paramount, uncomfortable and sympathetic, while Varys was as guarded as always. Each was arranged around the table based on their authority… except one…

"While I abhor any assault upon a woman, the Princess is away from danger." Once seeing the besotted Princesses taking the seats close to Rhaegar, Jon Connington sullenly took the far end. Something Rhaegar noticed.

"I appreciate your concern over the injuries my daughter suffered," Rickard replied, dripping with sarcasm.

"Enough." It was the Dornish Princess, voice firm and decisive. "What concerns us is far deeper than even an assault upon the future Queen… or the current Queen by that matter." Jaime had told Arthur, and Arthur had told Rhaegar of the last incident leaving Rhaella with an arm wrapped in bandages. However - based on how those present shifted - the rumors and whispers around the capitol of Rhaella's condition over the years were widespread. Rhaegar's fist clenched together. He had come so close to killing his father over that.

Sensing a lull, Oberyn chimed in. "Alright, the King is scum for treating his family like training dummies." It was clear in his eyes that he hurt like everyone else, but practicality won out over emotion… Elia was frankly impressed. "Can we please get to the point?"

Lyanna continued with Elia's train of thought, but complying with her goodbrother's request. "The King's temperament and sanity have degraded to the point of being a danger to the realm." The guests looked at her as if she was condemning herself to death… which in a manner of speaking she was. Even Varys tucked his lips pensively. "Which is why the Crown Prince has decided to assert his birthright."

It was Jon Arryn that first broke out of his stunned silence. "Surely you don't mean…"

"Yes." No sense in letting it drag. Leaning forward, Rhaegar clasped his hands, resting them flat on the Painted Table. "I am seeking to remove my father from the Throne on the basis of mental competence, and I am calling on each of you for your assistance in this venture."

Mixes of fear and apprehension were on the expressions of all of the guests. All except Connington, who was stone-faced. And… "I'm in."

"Ned, be quiet," Rickard hissed, almost frantic.

"No." Having lost Cersei, likely forever, the pain and the worry for Lyanna simply drove him to a boldness that Robert would have heralded back in the Vale. With Brandon, he understood why he had to be silenced - the brash heir would likely go off unprepared and get them all hurt, but this… "He hurt Lya, father. Who knows when he might start indiscriminately killing?"

"He's already done that," croaked Lord Arryn, his aging face wrinkling. Three Blackfyre Rebellions had occured during his lifetime, and each had come close to shattering the realm. "Ilyn Payne nearly bled to death after Aerys ordered his tongue sliced off. The Darklyns and Hollards…" Traitors that they were, their screams still haunted him. "May the gods damn me, but I agree with Ned. We have no other choice."

Everything descended into chaos after that.

"This is madness!" Rickard cautioned. "We're going to plunge the realm into a war… a war I can't afford for my family to lose." Olenna's comments on Roose Bolton came to mind. If he fell and Brandon was still the impulsive hothead he was, the Boltons would stick the knife into their skin at the earliest possibility.

"Not necessarily, Lord Stark." Varys spoke for the first time. Rhaegar eyed him carefully - it was always an enigma where his loyalty lied. "The songs that have been sung, songs not given to your father, my Prince, indicate many suffer in silence under his rule. They wish for a change, and would only cheer if one occurs most likely."

"Most likely?" Oberyn murmured. "As cavalier as Eddard Stark may be, I don't like those odds. Dorne is no stranger in fighting wars of succession."

Lyanna shot him a poignant look. Elia had strongly vouched for her brother to show up, attesting to his loyalty to her and her family, which included Lyanna now. But the hotheaded Dornish warrior was nowhere to be found and it rankled her._ He should be our strongest supporter._ "All we need is one long enough to secure King's Landing and the King. A bloodless coup."

"It isn't as easy as you would think, Lya," Rickard warned her, turning to grasp his daughter's hand. "You don't know how the Blackfyre Rebellions ravaged Westeros. Wars, famines, epidemics. All because of a dispute over a throne."

Elia came to her sister-wife's defense. "Daemon was a usurper with no claim after Daeron's ascension. Rhaegar is the Crown Prince and Aerys is not fit to rule." It felt so… freeing to spit out his name for what he really was. "Dorne will rally by his side alongside the North, Riverlands, and Vale." As Lyanna would always tell her, the North Remembered - it was Rhaegar that married the she-wolf.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Lord Arryn warned. "The Kingdoms are too invested in Aerys' rule in some cases."

"The Vale will side with whoever you side behind, Jon," Ned said. "You have to have the willpower to do what needs to be done. You as well, father."

Arryn massaged his temples. "I have no doubt the Northern Lords would support having a Stark sitting beside the Iron Throne, Bolton aside but he's no fool to stab everyone else in the back. The problem is in the other six kingdoms. I've seen this personally in the Vale, though it was far less of an issue than the Riverlands or Westerlands." Gods, all the headaches of the past decade just spewed forth again.

"Much as I would rather pursue the simple pleasures," Oberyn remarked. "My observation of events from afar concurs with Lord Arryn's assessment. Aerys and Tywin were in a dance with each other. How Aerys could torture Tywin just enough to make him wish to resign as Hand and Tywin making sure he had the political clout to prevent that." It was why he initially fought with Doran about Elia's marriage to Rhaegar, considering how King's Landing was a cesspit. _While I regret not supporting Rhaegar, I don't regret the rest._ "Tywin promptly gave Loren Payne Tarbeck Hall, only for Aerys to hold that up for seven years. Aerys stripping away lands of Lords he didn't like only for Tywin to hand them back, further hurting the Lords and knights that Aerys awarded the land to. Many enemies but also many allies of your father who will not take kindly to it."

"Mace Tyrell first and foremost, if his attempt to marry into the Royal family is jeopardized," Rhaegar sighed.

"You may have to offer him Aegon's hand to his daughter," Rickard said, leading to withering glares from Elia and Lyanna. "I know you want to protect the boy, but this isn't a walk in the gardens."

Still angry at the suggestion, Elia glanced at her husband. "There is another factor to consider. Yes, the perils of Aerys' rule will sway many, but we can't count on Dorne to support you wholeheartedly."

This did surprise Rhaegar. If Elia was pessimistic about her homeland… "Brother, is this true?" He could guess why, but…

A nod from Oberyn confirmed it. "My brother…" There was a time to tell and a time not to tell. Unlike the Starks for instance, Oberyn didn't seek to be an open book, even if he disagreed with Doran upon it. "He doesn't trust you, Rhaegar, to uphold Dornish sovereignty. He takes Maron Martell's decision to not join Westeros without further assurances to be his ideal, and while there are some houses that would support you there are others that would remain neutral."

"Lord Tywin wouldn't support you either." Varys was as dispassionate as could be. "He has suffered the most of any Lord, but the man won't back a losing horse. The songs tell that he is withdrawing to the Rock to seek out his options."

"Perhaps a marriage alliance would calm him? Lure him to our cause?" While most found Ned's comment innocuous and strategic, Lyanna noticed the sudden light in his eyes. The hope. _He really has it bad for Cersei Lannister…_ Then again, it would be perfect...

"This is pointless." Eyes shifted to Connington, having spoken for the first and only time. "Depose the King, crown yourself, and it'll be the end of it. The Lords won't bother contesting a claim if the contest is over before it begins."

"Over?" Rickard glared incredulously. "Listen to me you arrogant buggerer, you may think that the gods alive wouldn't jeopardize your infantile brain, but you're forgetting one thing."

There was murder in Connington's eyes. "And what would that be, my Lord?" he ground out.

"Viserys. As long as he is alive, then Aerys' loyalists have a cause to champion."

"Simple," Connington finished. "Kill the brat."

Rhaegar slammed his fist on the table. "There will be no kinslaying!"

"There may be no other way," Oberyn shrugged. "I don't like it, but from what I've heard, Aerys is poisoning the boy's mind." The Prince looked poignantly at Rhaegar. "He may very well be making him the heir and not you, brother."

"Oh gods… that's just fucking perfect," Rickard moaned. "A war of succession no matter what we do."

Connington groaned. "Of course the Stark tucks tail and runs."

Ned leveled his finger at Connington. "A tourney knight like you wouldn't last five minutes in the North."

"Such a pretty boy. Arthur Dayne slips up and now you think you can play at war. In the game of thrones you win or you die."

"And if it were up to you, Lord Hand, we'd lose starting out," Lyanna hissed.

And such the argument went on and on. Each person belting out various arguments and stratagems - personal insults flung around like Sothyros apes flinging their own feces. Rickard against Connington, Elia against Arryn, Ned against Varys, and the fierce Lyanna against everyone. Eventually, Rhaegar silenced them all. "Enough.!" There was nary another word. "Lord Varys." The bald eunuch looked up. He was the only one who's motivations weren't tattooed on his arm for all to see. Being such an enigma but also a survivor, if he supported something then it carried a certain weight about it. "You are the only one here without anything to truly lose except your life. While I can respect wishing to keep it, I sense that it doesn't motivate you. What does?"

His answer was simple and forthright. "You know where my loyalty stands. You know I will never betray the realm."

Rickard snorted. "And what is that, exactly? I know my realm in the north, and they care not over who sits on the Iron Throne, Stark blood or no."

"Millions of people, many of whom will die if the wrong person sits on that throne. We don't know their names but they deserve to live and laugh in peace just like you or I." He stared at Rhaegar. "Which is why I pledge my loyalty to you, Prince Rhaegar."

Varys' speech carried the day. Ned smacked his hand on the table. "You have my loyalty, brother."

Reaching over to kiss his sister on the cheek, Oberyn drew his dagger and balanced the tip against the table. "As you have mine, goodbrother. But do not ask of me what I cannot do." That drew a resigned nod from the Crown Prince.

"The Vale stands with you, my Prince." He had seen the madness of Aerys up close, heard everything of what had happened to Lyanna. There was no doubt in his mind that it would only get worse.

Blinking, Rickard looked at his daughter. "Lya, are you sure?"

"Yes father, I am."

Pursing his lips, the Warden of the North met Rhaegar's gaze. "The North stands with the Vale behind its Prince." There was one left, but Rhaegar had a feeling that whatever dirty laundry here shouldn't air in public. "We will resume this discussion on the morrow. My Lords, today begins the new dawn of our Seven Kingdoms." As the Lords filed out, he sought out his brides. Hugging them both close.

"Rhaegar." He turned to see Connington approaching, face a dark glower. "May we speak… alone?" His green eyes cast a look upon the two Queens that one might call contemptuous… with a hint of rage.

Elia squeezed his hand, while Lyanna boldly kissed him, glare matching Connington's. Rhaegar merely sighed. "Follow me."

"He worries me," Lyanna told her sister-wife as soon as they were alone in the chamber. "Connington."

"You sense it too?" Rhaegar's best friend aside from Arthur. Fellow squire on the Kingsguard, close for years. "He hated me when I first came to King's Landing. It lessened after a few months, but whenever I was close to Rhaegar, Connington's ire would flare. Almost like… jealousy."

Lyanna blinked. "You think he's a…" she trailed off. "For Rhaegar?"

"Aye, I do." Elia bit her lip. "I don't see him going to Aerys, but that doesn't mean I trust him." The two ladies simply hugged, the emotional torrent of the day finally weighing upon them - gods only knew how Rhaegar was handling it.

* * *

They reached Rhaegar's personal solar rather quickly. "Alright, Jon," Rhaegar stated icily - his Stark bride rubbing off on him. He took a seat behind his teak desk. "Start talking." A rising irritation filled him at being second guessed by someone so dear to his heart as Jon Connington

Connington crossed his arms. Expression not of a devoted friend, but of anger... Or something else entirely. "I am merely trying to give you all options as to the potential chaos of what you…"

"Seven fucking hells, Jon!" Rhaegar made a fist to smack against the expensive desk… but refrained. "Don't give me that same bullshit more akin to an drooling supplicant at Court. It's beneath you."

The redheaded Lord and Hand also burned inside. Seething with worry for Rhaegar and anger at those he knew were guiding him on this path. "I don't see," he finally said. "Why would you bother with consulting with me if your mind is already made up… or made for you."

Rhaegar blinked in incredulity. "I know you don't believe that." What had gotten into him? "Jon, we've been friends since I can remember. Gods, we squired together." He knew Connington disliked the Starks, but was he going to break from Rhaegar simply because Lyanna was his wife? "We vowed long before not to hold back our true thoughts."

The Hand's scowl grew harder, not at all concealed by the trimmed red beard. "Fine, my Prince. Are you out of your fucking mind?"

Eyes narrowing in response, Rhaegar leaned back in his chair. "Watch yourself, Jon."

"No, this I have to say." There was no stopping Connington - he wouldn't let his Prince become a Kinslayer. "You really wish to be a usurper? To plunge the realm into more chaos?"

"The realm is already in chaos, Jon. If this works out, then it will be bloodless."

Leaning down, arms splaying over the desk, Connington looked deep into Rhaegar's eyes. Not letting how gorgeous they were soften his resolve. "You know Aerys - he won't give up power easily. Neither he nor his sycophants. It will be bathed in blood."

A sigh. "It's bathed in blood already. He's escalating, Jon, falling deeper into the madness that gripped him since Duskendale." Rhaegar ran a hand down his face. "It brings me nothing but pain to do this, but I have to face the danger that my own father is to the Seven Kingdoms."

"A danger to your wife, rather." Rhaegar's eyes met his, surprised. "That's what this is about, isn't it? What he's done to Lyanna and Elia?"

Rhaegar's eyes narrowed. "Yes, as is my duty. You would know if you had gotten married as I suggested."

And the agony returned - a clenching heart of love unrequited. Connington fought to keep his composure, to refuse to simply give in to his urges and kiss his silver prince. It was something he had kept in check for years… but now it flared with a vengeance. The presence of Elia and Lyanna, both openly lusting for Rhaegar, it burned him in his soul… The Lord of Griffin's Roost felt the insatiable urge to protect his Prince. The man he truly loved, surrounded by so many snakes. _And now they control him. The Starks, the Martells, Dayne… his own wives._

"My Prince, I fear your wives are leading you down the ruin of your line."

"You're a fool if you believe that. Just like you're a fool if you think you can speak ill of my brides."

Connington wracked his mind for what Rhaegar could mean. "Wait… you heard my conversation with Pycelle…" _Varys, that cunt._ "I was worried about what Dorne would think."

"No you weren't. I think you want it to happen, for my brides to betray me."

"And you're blind if you don't see it!' Time to go for broke. "The Dornish infiltrated Daeron II's court and ended up instigating the Blackfyre Rebellions, and now they and the Starks are doing it again!"

He groaned. "This again? You were against my marriage to Elia and now my marriage to Lyanna."

_Why can't he fucking see?!_ "The Starks are idealistic fools. Even in the days of their ferocity, they have no business in the south. And the Martells… If you want to destroy your plan before it happens, you did so with bringing Oberyn."

"Elia trusts him, and I trust her."

"You can't listen to them and plunge the realm into war!"

"The realm will be plunged into war if we don't act!"

A furious shake of the head. "They are destroying you. Turning you against your own family to gain political power through the Princesses! Rhaegar, don't let yourself fall into the seductress' trap when there stand in front of you people that truly lo…"

Rhaegar cut him off before he truly crossed the line, face red with suppressed rage. "You will never refer to either Princess in such a tone, do you understand me?" Connington understood. As dangerous as Tywin or the King himself were to the Realm, Princesses Elia and Lyanna Targaryen were even worse - they held the ear of its one hope.

_I failed._

"The plan will move forward." He resumed his seat. "Will I count on your loyalty?"

So close to his dream, yet so different. But Connington's answer was the same. "I am yours to command, my Prince." Slowly he knelt, accepting his place by Rhaegar's side no matter how little it was.

_Better to protect him from them from within than fight him from without._

* * *

"Well, this has certainly been an interesting turn of events." Ned Stark leaned against the wall of the private promenade of the Lords of Dragonstone, the beautiful expanse of Blackwater Bay laid out before them. Waters sparkling by the red orb of the setting sun. "Are you alright, Lya?"

Staring out at the sea, Lyanna's face was hard. Masking her churning stomach and wild emotions. "We're supporting Rhaegar in his attempt to overthrow his father, the same person that nearly choked me to death in front of my daughter…"

"Elia's daughter, rather," Ned corrected, only to get a withering glare from his sister.

"My daughter." She was in no mood.

A sigh. "Alright, your daughter." He set his hand on the stone railing. "Gods, this relationship you've gotten yourself into confuses me," Ned said, chuckling.

Biting her lip, Lyanna remembered all three of them in the same bed, presumably to comfort Rhaenys… and yet she enjoyed it a little too much. "It confuses me too, sometimes." Wanting to focus on something other than her anger against Aerys, her worry for Rhaegar, and her confusion on Elia, Lyanna settled on her beloved daughter. "But I am certain of Rhaenys, brother. She's as mine as the children of my womb would be."

He placed his hand on her shoulder. "You've always had a good heart, Lya." _Starks have always been… different than others. Same as Targaryens._ It wasn't too weird for Lyanna to fall for the little Princess. "And Rhaenys is a lovely girl."

"She likes you," Lyanna replied with a smile. "Aside from us and the Queen, no one else has been able to calm her down so well… up to being her uncle?" There was a hopeful glint in her eyes.

To this, Ned laughed. "Would beat having to find out there's a bastard of Brandon's seed out there. I'd love that child too, but it would be awkward." In this, they both agreed. He frowned slightly. "So you're up to this?"

She needed no clarification. "Rhaegar deserves to be King, Aerys doesn't." Lyanna raised her brow. "Are you up to it?"

"I think so."

"Even dealing with Catelyn?"

Ned sighed. "Even with Catelyn… though I'm not happy about it." Another thing in which they both agreed.

"I'd hope to find the both of you here." Lyanna tensed up when Lord Varys strolled in, hands clasped behind his back. His fleshy cheeks were puffed up in a serene smile. One that just almost hid two eyes twinkling calculatingly. "This is a far less awkward encounter than mine with Lord Connington earlier in the day."

The Princess' eyes narrowed. "What do you want, Lord Varys?" She didn't trust this man as far as she could throw him - for different reasons as Connington. _The Hand might be disloyal due to his longing for my husband._ Elia wasn't the delicate wallflower most assumed her to be. _Varys… his motivations and loyalties are as enigmatic as the stars._

Eyes meeting Lyanna's, Varys merely bowed his head in respect. "Given the magnitude of our conspiracy, wouldn't it be prudent for us conspirators to prepare together in the last chance before we must split apart?" Eloquent, drowning moods in the complex word salad. Far more dangerous than someone like Connington.

Ned looked at her for a moment before picking up the proper signals from her reaction - weeks in King's Landing had pretty much gave them a crash course in the machinations of the game of thrones. "Preparations are better made elsewhere than here."

"Quite the contrary, Lord Eddard. I find the sound of the waves upon the cliffs or the wind against the island helps muffle voices." Yet, Varys cocked an eyebrow on the both of them. "Or perhaps it isn't logistical, but mental preparations that must be made?" He bobbed his head slightly. "The removal of a King… even at his worst, Aegon the Unworthy was left on the throne until he rotted away."

"You'll need no mental preparation from me, my Lord." How best to handle this person, Lyanna asked herself? As a member of the royal family now, she'd have to step up and act as a proper wife to Rhaegar… and now, she figured that the best way to discern the Master of Whisperers - someone who made his living in the shadows - was to approach him delicately but directly. "Tell me, Lord Varys, why do you stand with us?"

Varys blinked… a momentary sign that her direct question rocked him. "Lya…" Ned cautioned.

But the eunuch recovered. "No, Lord Stark, it is fine." A soft chuckle. "The future Queen's question is one I can answer. The people of the Realm…"

Lyanna wouldn't let him get away with such a contrived answer - even if it was true, few even in her own circle did the she-wolf know to be so altruistic. _Myself, Ned, Elia, Rhaella, and Rhaegar…_ Everyone else was out for their own interests over all others. "Spare me such droll blather. I want to know why I shouldn't kill you for being a potential threat." Ned's eyes widened. "You alone hold Aerys' ear over all of us - one whisper and we're all hanging from posts. Why should my husband trust you?"

"And you don't trust me, Princess?"

"Honestly, my Lord?" It was Ned. Lyanna's words may have been alien to him in their almost calm viciousness, but her suspicion of Varys had a point. "I wouldn't trust you as far as Lyanna could throw you off the cliffs of Dragonstone. Spies hold no honor."

Surprisingly, Varys merely chuckled. "Bravo, my Lord, your Grace. The Realm will be in good hands with both of you in senior roles." He looked out at the sea, silent until Lyanna attempted to restart the conversation, after which he spoke once more. "When I was young, I traveled the free cities in an acting troupe. One day, a sorcerer approached the master and made an offer he couldn't refuse. The master sold me to the sorcerer, and he gave me a potion that took away my movement and voice. I still felt pain, and such pain was terrible when he sliced off my stem and stones."

Fighting her nausea at the thought, Lyanna knew that simply because this man was a victim of such perfidy didn't mean he wasn't a threat. "And how does this relate to your support of us?"

Varys' eyes sparkled with… something. "He burned my parts in a brazier as part of a magical ritual - of which I still have no idea. I viewed the sorcerer praying in my pain, and in the blue flames a voice clearly answered. But only to me, speaking two words. Only one of those made sense to me at the time, and yet, I think I know now why the fates brought me here. To serve his Grace."

Lyanna crossed her arms. "I'm getting bored already. Please cut to the chase."

Smile curling into a disarming smirk, Varys leaned into Lyanna's ear. "Please tell your bastard bard of the North that I mean him no harm." Even after the Master of Whisperers made his exit, the Princess' eyes were wide as saucers. Not even Ned could pry out what had shocked her so.

The game of thrones had truly begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it begins ;)
> 
> Thanks to Nielsen1984 for help on the chapter, and to my amazing idea man danielsantiago.
> 
> The battle lines are pretty much forming right now. Lord knows where they will end up.
> 
> Next we have Ned returning to the North... with Catelyn.


	28. Acclamation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone.
> 
> May each of you have a blessed Easter Sunday in this time of tumult and danger. Stay safe everyone.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

"Open the gates!"

A fine mist frothing around his mouth and nostrils, Ned Stark felt absolutely invigorated. The cold enveloped him like icy knives stabbing through even his thick fur cloak and he absolutely loved it. _Gods, nothing's better than a sunny winter's day in the North!_

At the massive ironwood gates of Winterfell castle swung open, Ned could think of something far better. Sure it was plain, nothing like the inspired architecture of the southern castles - but Winterfell was home. Sturdy build to keep out the wind and connected to the hot springs of the Godswood. It felt so good to be back after so many years in the Vale.

"I ought to tell yeh', I miss them southern beds," commented Rodrik Cassel to Ned's right. Current commander of the household guard now that Martyn stayed with Lord Rickard. "Them mattresses were soft as a fine lass."

Ned chuckled. "Aye, they were. Perhaps I can write to my sister to ship us some." Cassel grinned.

Preceded by a troop of cavalry carrying fluttering Stark banners, the acting Lord of Winterfell led the train of men, wagons, and wheelhouses into the courtyard of the great castle. Hooves and wheels kicking up clods of snow while the ever curious inhabitants of Wintertown watched. All eager to see their future Lady's arrival. _If only Cersei could be here_… Ned shook away the thought. _Best not torture yourself._

Luckily, Ned didn't have to dwell on what left him brooding on the entire boat ride to White Harbor. Standing at the van of the Stark household was a familiar face. Face lean, beard stubbly… his younger brother had grown like a weed since Ned was last here. _From a boy to a man… soon to be a knight of the realm._ Guiding his horse into the courtyard, Ned dismounted quickly. Sword jostling from his belt as he walked over to his brother. "Benjen. You've gotten hairy," he said flatly.

Benjen answered with a frown. "Hopefully it's not as ugly as you display it."

A moment passed before Ned snorted, lips curling into a smirk… then a full belly laugh that roped in the six-and-ten Stark brother. The two of them embraced, watched with joy by the household staff. "It's been too damn long, brother."

"We were starting to think you preferred the Eyrie to Winterfell. Maybe met a pretty girl." Pulling back, Benjen clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't tell me ya' left one there?"

His comment hit close to home. _No, in the Westerlands… alas, to never be mine._ Benjen seemed to take his frown as just his brooding self, so he went with it. "No, you do not have to worry. I did not leave a lady love in the Vale." One hundred percent the truth.

"Well then, glad for ya' to be back where the action's at. Nan whipped up your favorite kidney pie." Just the thought of it made Ned's mouth water.

But duty called, however. Surrounding the first wheelhouse were four men wearing cloaks bearing the trout of House Tully, one having dismounted his horse and opening the door. Quickly, Ned rushed over just in time to take the hand of Lady Catelyn Tully, Brandon's betrothed and his charge. "My Lady, welcome to Winterfell."

Wrapped in an intricately styled wool coat interwoven with wavy blue lines, Catelyn's sparkling blue eyes took in her new home. "I can see, Lord Stark. Very… plain." Her voice wasn't particularly loud, though undoubtedly some of the servants heard it. "The snow is very beautiful, though."

"Thank you, Lady Tully. It does add a rather pleasing aesthetic." Not wanting to delve further, he guided the beautiful trout to where Benjen and Maester Luwin stood. "My Lady, I'd like to introduce you to Maester Luwin and my dear younger brother Benjen."

Catelyn prefuncterly greeted Luwin, but she paid special attention to Benjen. "So you're the Kingsguard my Bran talked about?" she said with interest.

"I won't be getting my cloak just yet," Benjen replied with a false modesty. Ned could tell he was inwardly jumping with excitement. At Catelyn's outstretched hand, Benjen laughed. "No need for that, we're family." He pulled her hand until she was in his arms.

"Oh…" While returning the embrace, both Ned and Luwin could see the awkwardness. A woman clearly not used to the North's more… informal ways.

As they pulled apart, Benjen noticed her teeth chattering. "Cold, goodsister?"

Whatever her failings, Catelyn was noble enough to not complain. "Perhaps a little."

A stern-faced woman in septa's gowns was not. "Shouldn't spring have come already?" she whined, causing eye rolls among the household. Benjen glanced at Ned, eyebrow raised. _A septa, here?_ Ned could only shrug.

"Actually," Luwin chimed in. "The Citadel sent the ravens a week ago. Spring was false this time, unfortunately."

The septa was not amused. "By the Seven, another day in this icehouse…"

"Calm down, Septa Mordane, it's alright." Catelyn quieted her down, much to Ned's gratitude. "Bran told me that the castle is built on a hot springs."

Ned relaxed. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all. "Alright, everyone is dismissed," he called out, servants and guards starting to spread out but with many still nosy.

One trotted forward ponderously - a massive man with a thick waist. "Hodor," he grunted.

Catelyn yelped, eyes wide. "What in gods' names are you?" she exclaimed, slightly frightened.

"Oh, this is Hodor," Benjen giggled. "He's harmless, right mate?"

"Hodor," the gentle giant beamed. "Ho-dor… hodor." He pointed to the wheelhouse and wagons.

"Yes, Hodor, the baggage." As he trotted off, Ned turned to the still shaken Catelyn. "He does all the heavy lifting around here."

Pursing her lips, Catelyn nodded. "Alright, but keep that, that… _thing_ away from me."

Ned blinked. "But my Lady, Hodor is harmless…"

"I won't have an addled brute so close that he could hurt me.." At that moment, the impression of the household staff - and Benjen - was set about their future Lady. Such ignorant words about a beloved member of their community… unforgivable.

Sighing, Ned admitted defeat. "Alright, my Lady." It was good for her that she had a dozen servants from Riverrun with her. "Luwin will show you to your chambers."

"You'll be sleeping in Lord Brandon's chamber till he arrives." Catelyn's face lit up at that.

With Lady Catelyn and her retinue stomping through the half-ankle deep snow - nothing to a northerner but obviously a hardship to them - Ned felt Benjen sidle up beside him. "Well that was… awkward."

Ned snorted. "White Harbor seemed to please her enough, so some weeks should find her a proper Lady of Winterfell." _Who are you kidding? She's gonna be awful._ The inner voice sounded a lot like Cersei…

"She brought a fucking septa, Ned. I wouldn't count on it." The two of them began walking towards the keep. "What did Bran see in her? His letters spoke as if she was Jonquil to his Florian… the most recent Jonquil, rather." Benjen chuckled at his own jape.

There was little to gain by piling insults upon his soon to be goodsister, so Ned refused to. "Whatever her flaws, the most important thing is that she's enamored with Bran. Desperately so, only behind how Lya and the Prince see each other."

A raised brow. "Oh? I wish I could have seen that. A man actually tying down our wild sister." Now that Benjen put it that way, it did come off as both absurd and miraculous.

"You'll see it soon enough. Day after tomorrow, you ride for White Harbor."

He grinned. "Next time you'll see me, I'll be wearing white. Jealous?"

The Northerners didn't accept the Andal concept of knighthood, but Ned would be a damned liar if they all didn't grow up in the shadow of Aemon the Dragonknight or Robb Reyne. "Would you believe me if I said no?"

Benjen shook his head, always the little tag along to Lyanna. "The Quiet Wolf is gonna be the alpha here for a while. Keeping the North put together and the Lady Trout out of trouble. You up to it?"

His question killed Ned's jovial mood. Exhaling the sigh of a man with the weight of an entire realm on his back - without the touch of the woman he so loved to comfort him - Ned turned to Benjen with suddenly haggard eyes. "It's more than that, brother." The younger Stark furrowed his brows in confusion. "Come to father's solar." He wrapped an arm around Benjen's shoulder. "We have much to discuss."

* * *

Scowling, Lyanna looked directly at the castilian. "This is unacceptable. Twice Lord Guncer has delayed his tax payments and now he asks for a third?"

The man scribbled on his large ledger. "My records say he has had three delays and this is his fourth… your Grace."

"Well that's even worse!" She walked down the corridors of the great keep, Lyanna having woken early to both escort Rhaenys to the kitchens and see to the household - handling much of the administrative work that the Lordship of Dragonstone supervised. _If I am to be one of Rhaegar's Queens, I must learn._ "Ser Barristan, how quickly can a boat reach Sweetport Sound?"

"About eighteen hours, Princess."

Lyanna nodded. "Good, see to it that two dozen household guards are sent to Lord Sunglass' keep with haste." She turned to the castilian. "Get a raven to him, and say that he can have the coin due Dragonstone is prepared to deliver by the time the boat arrives or his heirs shall ransom him from our dungeons."

The man bowed. "At once, Princess." He darted off.

"That includes you, dear knight," Lyanna gently told Barristan.

"But your Grace, the Prince has instructed me to be by your side all hours of the day."

"I'll be fine," she laughed at Rhaegar's protectiveness. "Send the raven, Ser Barristan. Don't make me command you." Her tone was light.

He bowed, smiling himself. "At your command, Princess."

As Barristan walked off, Dacey turned to her. "You're settling well into your role, Lya."

Lyanna sighed. "Aye…" She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling her head throb. "It's times like these I miss sleeping with Rhaegar beside me." The nights where she wasn't in their chambers, sleep came sparingly_. I can't sleep without his warm body holding me close._

"I warned you about marrying a married Targaryen Prince," Dacey chided as they continued walking.

"No you didn't," the she-wolf shot back. "You were begging me for details of how he looked shirtless."

Dacey pursed her lips. "That doesn't sound like me." Lyanna merely rolled her eyes. Her lady in waiting decided to change the subject, ponytail bouncing up and down as she walked. "You were a bit hard on the castilian."

Grumbling left Lyanna's lips. "That fool doesn't know his ass from his elbow."

"Are the Sunglass tax monies really so important?"

"Given what we are planning, yes." Dacey merely nodding. With the efforts already at full strid, Lyanna's first request was for all taxes to be paid in full. Velaryon, Celtigar, Massey… they all paid promptly. Only Sunglass stood to bullshit them. "Many a mind can be turned once the smell of gold hits their nose."

"Very true, Lya." They turned a corner and reached the solar. Ser Arthur stood guard… and Lyanna noticed a very slight smirk cross Dacey's face. "Will you be needing anything else, your Grace?"

Lyanna's gaze flickered back to Ser Arthur, the a tiny bead of sweat falling down the cheek of the normally stoic knight. "Just see that the kitchens are ready for tomorrow. Lord Celtigar is due to arrive and we want to _impress_ him."

Dacey read the subtext, and was dutifully impressed on how Lyanna was simply taking over. "Of course, your Grace." Curtseying, the she-bear fluidly brushed her ponytail across her shoulder. Winking at Ser Arthur before leaving.

Biting back a giggle, Lyanna approached the door. "Ser Arthur."

He bowed. "Princess." The word was a croak. _You can't hide it Arthur._ "His Grace and the Princess Elia are waiting for you."

"Thank you." She quirked an eyebrow. "A problem, Arthur?"

The Sword of the Morning shook his head. "No, your Grace, why?"

"No reason." _Gods, can't you just give in already?_ "I hope you will be available for our sparring lesson after lunch." She and Rhaegar always ended up dropping everything to make love… not that Lyanna complained, but that wouldn't make her a better fighter.

Arthur nodded. "I am at your command."

Smiling, she opened the door and breezed into the solar. Eager to see her husband for the first time that day. _To finally be in his arms…_ "My Prince…"

She found Rhaegar adjusting the buttons on his doublet while Elia smoothed out her dress, hair disheveled and face flush. "Ah, sister. You're early," she said a bit too cheerily - though genuinely happy to see her.

Lyanna only chuckled. "It's amazing how much faster the staff works if you give the lazy ones a kick in the rear." Truth be told, how randy the two of them were in recent weeks only delighted her. _A truly united, happy family as the conqueror and his wives were._ Embracing and kissing Elia's cheek, after a moment she raced to Rhaegar and threw a passionate kiss upon his lips.

Melting into the kiss, Rhaegar held her tightly just as she adored. "Good morning, my Queen."

Shivering all over at how he called her that, Lyanna kissed him again. "Morning, my King." Pulling back, there was a queer look in Elia's eyes… one she couldn't place. "Sister?" Elia visibly shook it off, smiling warmly and motioning for the both of them to sit. "So, what did we need to all discuss?"

"Connington sent a raven from the capitol." Rhaegar sighed deeply, returning to his brooding. He was the most affected by their plans, considering he was going against his own father. Wordlessly, Lyanna rose and snaked behind Rhaegar, massaging his tense shoulders. "Ohhhh, that feels wonderful, my wolf."

"You deserve a little comfort, my Prince," she cooed serenely, catching just a flicker of that look in Elia's eyes before it disappeared. "What did the raven say?"

Rhaegar grunted under her soft yet powerful hands. Combining with the vigorous lovemaking he had with Elia to finally ease his stress. "He worded it in unassuming language, but I got the gist. He's trying to assemble a grouping of Lords and Knights to assist in keeping order in the capitol when the… event takes place."

Elia raised an eyebrow. "Do we know who they are?"

"He says that it's best for security if we don't."

Both women eyed each other with suspicion at this. "Can we be sure to trust who he picks?"

The Prince frowned. "I don't see why not. He's my closest friend."

"We all know how he feels about you, my love," Lyanna stated, working at a particularly knotted part of muscle. "And he doesn't appreciate Elia nor I for it."

"So I'm not a lover of men as he is." It still upset Rhaegar that their friendship could be frayed by this, but Connington was not a man who would betray those he cared for. "He will be supremely loyal to me, I assure you." Neither woman was so sure, but they let it go. "Now, I think we need to formulate who would be willing to support us… ah, thank you, Lya." Kissing his head, Lyanna resumed her seat.

An hour later, they were still pouring over various names. "So Lord Celtigar at the feast?" Elia inquired.

Rhaegar nodded. "Aye, he hates my father for booting him off the small council but favors me after I took his heir Adrian as a squire."

"The Velaryons would be a worthy ally, but Lucerys is an Aerys loyalist," Lyanna proclaimed. "For the Vale… Ned told me about Lord Royce. He's honorable."

"I'll consult with Lord Jon forthwith, but it'll be his decision whether to approach." So far they gleaned most of the Seven Kingdoms. The three of them had whittled it down to Lord Blackwood, Lord Dayne, Lord Yronwood - Arthur's uncle - Lord Celtigar, Lord Whent, Jeor Mormont, and Howland. Enough to secure broad support. "Now that leaves the Westerlands."

Elia decided to broach the dragon in the room. "We need to discuss approaching Tywin."

The Prince frowned. "Out of the Question."

The Dornish Princess matched his frown. "And why ever not, my Prince?" Her voice was sweet, but bitingly so. Her inner viper was emerging more and more, and Lyanna found it… quite pleasing.

"Because I witnessed my father cut out the tongue of one of Tywin's men for a tiny jape. I can't be sure of his loyalties - the time to approach him is after the deed is done."

"Lya talked to him personally, perhaps she can shed some light on this." Both her spouses cast an eye to her, expectant.

Thinking for a moment, Lyanna looked at both. "He seemed… prying. I think he's unsure of what side to take."

"He'll potentially take a third direction, overthrow House Targaryen and install either himself or a puppet." Rhaegar's violet eyes blazed, angered at the thought. "We can't take that chance." Both women conceded he had a good point. "All that's left is the Stormlands."

"Connington only," Lyanna said immediately. "Maybe Selmy if Ser Barristan can finesse it." Of this, she was adamant. _Robert may have fooled Bran and Ned into thinking he changed, but he hasn't._ Lyanna wouldn't trust the Stormlands if Rhaegar had ten dragons and a million men at his back.

* * *

Boots clicking against the stone floor, Stannis Baratheon brushed away the water from his dark brown hair. He should have seen the damned rainstorm coming, but like a moron he accepted the lout Meryn Trant's challenge to a spar. And of course Trant had to insist on fighting dirty, forcing Stannis to teach him a lesson…

_Of course the keep built by Durran Godsgrief would end up getting pelted by the damn rain._ Luckily he managed to dart out before more than his hair became waterlogged - Trant wasn't so lucky, Stannis leaving him groaning on the ground. It was funny to the entire crowd, and Stannis would have smirked if he ever smirked. And all he could think about now was the letter delivered to him.

The letter that would need him to search out both his brothers.

Arriving at the Lord's chambers, he brusquely knocked on it. "Robert." Nothing. "Robert, I know you're in there. You sleep till apex anyways." At the slight giggling of a female followed by a male chuckle, Stannis groaned and pushed open the door anyways.

As he figured, there was Robert's bare ass, bobbing up and down while thrusting into the cunt of a moaning young woman… at least Stannis figured she was young based on her slim legs wrapped around his brother's torso. _Gods… is this the third woman he's bedded?_ Wincing when Robert grunted his release, Stannis missed his parents' honor not for the first time. "Robert!"

The woman screamed at the interruption, while Robert snarled. Scrambling off to glare at his brother. "What is it, Stannis? Did ya' come 'ere to finally learn how to please a woman?"

Unfortunately for the eight and ten second son, the pretty young maiden had covered herself in the sheet while he could see all of Robert's cock. "Is that Delena Florent?"

Robert grinned. "You could have her now, though she's got a warm cunt. It'll melt yer cock of ice." That greatly amused the Lord of Storm's End, laughing uproariously.

Stannis sighed. "We received a letter from Casterly Rock." That shut him up. "Please put on some clothes while I wait outside."

Longer than he would have liked - and with more noise inside than he would have felt comfortable with - Stannis was greeted by Robert as he let a tunic slip over his bare torso. "Gods, brother, you have no sense of humor."

"I'll have a sense of humor when you have propriety." The two of them began walking to the solar. "I'll give you the maids and smallfolk girls, but a Lady of a noble house?"

"Oh please, you're about to marry that uptight bitch cousin of hers." Stannis said nothing. "Oh, you said no? Looks like I won't be seeing Delena for a while." He roared with laughter. "Buck up, ice cunt." Robert slapped him on the back. "You worry too fucking much."

Two household guards parted to let them in the solar, revealing a thin, finely-dressed boy rifling through Stannis' desk. "Renly!" Stannis barked. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Immaculate to the point of effeminacy, anyone who bothered to know about Renly Baratheon knew why… Robert shouted it constantly to anyone who'd hear. "I heard we received a letter from Casterly Rock. Wanted to see what it was about… so I could help advise our Lord brother, of course."

It wasn't the first time Stannis caught Renly snooping. The boy had taken their parents' death hard - they all took it hard, Robert's whoring intensifying and whatever warmth in Stannis dying out, but Renly's change was the most glaring - and he had grown both bitterness and a low cunning as a result. "I have it here." Stannis pulled it out of his breast pocket, Renly glowering while Robert laughed. "Mind if I read?"

"Go ahead." Robert plopped in a plush chair, resting his feet on an expensive footstool. "Will probably be boring as fuck anyway."

_Lord Baratheon,_

_I am heartened to hear that the Stormlands have seen their Lord Paramount return permanently for the first time since your father departed from the earth. A lack of leadership is never advisable._

"That shit," Renly hissed, interrupting his brother. "Insults both Robert and our mother and father in the same line…"

"Shut it!" Robert bellowed, cutting off Renly. "I'm trying to listen, so pipe down before I make you the girl you want to be!"

Clearing his throat, Stannis continued. Not wishing to stoke his bitter brother's ire.

_Whispers have come to me in regards to a bitterness that has developed between yourself and several influential individuals in high positions within the small council. As one that has suffered the same, I can relate and propose a solution, namely the forging of a bond between our two Kingdoms._

_I would be eager to hear your response._

_Tywin Lannister_

_Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West_

Setting the leaf of parchment down on the desk, Stannis met the blue eyes of both his brothers. "So… there's that."

Robert blinked, peering at Stannis with confusion. "Well, what the fuck does he want?"

The middle of the remaining Baratheons fought the urge to roll his eyes. _He can't possibly be that dense._ Probably too much wine. "I think he's proposing a potential alliance by marriage."

That took a moment to digest. "Oh… Ooooh." His eyes widened. "What, to the bitch lioness… I think I'd rather fuck a warm melon."

"I think you actually did that once," Renly grinned, only to find Robert's fist slamming into his shoulder. "Fuck…"

"Oh stop with that ya' fuckin' pansy. Take your pain like a man, meanin' not up the ass."

"Look," Stannis interjected, dour voice perfect to mellow Robert out. "This is a very serious request by him."

Insults notwithstanding, Renly refused to be counted out. "What is there to worry about? With Jaime Lannister having take the white and the Imp being a debased monster, Robert's spare heirs would have Casterly Rock to inherit. Imagine, all that gold controlled by our nephew." He licked his lips, imagining the things he could do with that. Finally paying the wretched Targs back.

It was up to Stannis to bring them both down to earth.

"I don't want to marry that fucking cunt," Robert shouted, slamming his fist on the desk. "Damn it, I want my fucking bride back from that dragonspawn rapist!" Stannis sighed - it wasn't the first time that he mentioned that. _Guards better get ready, cause he's gonna burn out his rage on the sparring grounds._

Renly shrugged. "Why bother with one or the other? Sire an heir for the old lion on Cersei, then fight to get your wolf back after. Lots of things can happen to a woman after childbirth." the youth was lazy and narrowly ambitious, but no one could say he couldn't devise rather ruthless plots. Ones that made Stannis' skin crawl.

But Robert only laughed. "Finally, something out of your mind other than mincing crap! That's probably what I should do." He turned to Stannis. "Write the bastard back. Tell him I'm interested." Grabbing the flagon of wine from the dresser, he walked off - beginning to swig it.

Stannis glared at his little brother. "You're playing with fire, Renly."

The four and ten adolescent chuckled. "Grandmother was a Targaryen, brother," it disgusted him, but neither Maeker nor Aegon had sent their father or mother to their deaths. "Fire is our element." _One bitter drunk and one whelp eager to show up the world… gods have mercy._

* * *

"I can't do this, Ellaria."

The Dornishwoman huffed, practically shoving Dacey down the hall. "Gods, and they say we are stubborn creatures."

Stubborn… Dacey wouldn't say she was that. Apprehensive, seven hells yes… She could take on Ironborn toe to toe but couldn't approach the man she fancied. _Get a damn grip, Dacey!_ But it was Arthur Dayne they were talking about... "What if this doesn't work?"

"I speak from experience, no man has ever resisted this if done right." Cloistered maidens, happily married husbands, and even a dour Septa or two had all thought themselves incorruptible in Ellaria's life. _Oh, were they wrong._

Dacey swallowed. "It… just seems too sudden for it to succeed. Ser Arthur has barely spoken a word to me in weeks. He's been avoiding me, I'm positive of that."

Pushing her through the dark corridors, Ellaria laughed. "That's a good thing. He's trying to avoid the temptation that you've given him. Now for the final push."

"But what if he's just keeping an irritation away?"

"If you are the right match for Arthur, and by Mother Rhoyne you are, then he'll be unable to resist you."

"I…"

Groaning, Ellaria grabbed Dacey's shoulders. "By the Seven, I had the best lover of my life leave for parts unknown!" It wasn't a lie - after all the men and women she had bedded, Oberyn shockingly made her feel things she never had before. But now he was gone. At her urging. _Gods, that may have been a mistake…_ "If I can't be in bed with a mighty highborn warrior inside me, then you fucking will if I have anything to say about it!" Ellaria watched as Dacey's eyes glassed over. Likely imagining Arthur inside her. _That's the spirit._ "Ready?"

Dacey nodded after a moment. "Aye, I'm ready."

"You're lucky tonight, Dayne," Oswell Whent shot at his whitecloak brother, smacking a mailed hand on his shoulderplate. "Got to enjoy the day riding with the Prince and Princess, while I have the night shift."

"Speak for yourself," Arthur replied. "Have you seen Princess Lyanna riding? She turns every trot into a tourney race. I don't know how the damn Reach or Westerlands knights do it in this armored monstrosity, let alone the horse."

Oswell rolled his eyes. "Complaints, complaints. Not the best look, Arthur." That earned him a punch to the arm, laughing as he rubbed it. "Gods, it feels good for this place not to be such a crypt all the time."

"I figure you aren't speaking of the color?" Before, only the bubbly Princess Rhaenys could bring joy, with Rhaegar so brooding and Elia so quiet. Now, their Prince was smiling most of the day, both Princesses showered him with affection and he them, and the children were brighter than ever. "Who's chambers are you standing guard outside?"

"Luckily the Lady's chambers," Oswell replied with relief. "Gerold has the unenviable duty of taking position at the Lord's."

Arthur chuckled at that. "Her rides on Winter make Princess Lyanna quite frisky, don't they?" Then again, neither woman needed an excuse to attack their husband once alone. It was the first moons of Lyanna's marriage to Rhaegar… _Thinking about it, this is likely the long-delayed first moons of Elia's marriage to Rhaegar as well. _Arthur could only pray for his childhood friend and his Prince to continue with such passion and love. "Alright, brother. I'll see you on the morrow."

Unlike at the Red Keep - where all of them slept in a communal dormitory - on Dragonstone they all had their own tiny chamber. Arthur appreciated the modicum of comfort. _Lonely, but mine._ He had long resigned himself to adopting the chivalrous life.

Groaning at the aches and pains in his muscles and joints, Arthur removes his gauntlets and cloak. Hearing them clink as they dropped to the table he used for the purpose. _Ah, much better…_

"Greetings, Ser Arthur…"

Whirling around on his heels, what Arthur found took his breath away. "Lady Dacey?"

The she-bear was on his bed, illuminated by pale candlelight. Her athletic curves and trim figure of her glorious body covered only by a silk gown. Hair again adorned in a ponytail. "Who else would it be?" Her heart was beating out of her skin, but seeing his face heartened her. _Arthur does desire me…_

How did he not see her there? _Gods, I've seen her every time the last few weeks._ The Mormont girl's radiant smile, the way her muscles flexed as she trained as well as any male knight, her dresses smug against her supple breasts... all of it tormented him. Testing his vows. "Lady Dacey... what are you doing here?" Arthur had to look away, but found himself unable to.

His hesitancy lit a fire inside Dacey. "Stop playing the fool Ser Arthur," the she-bear declared, slowly rising from the bed. "You know why I'm here." She bit her lip, walking to him with a provocative sway of her hips.

"I… I think you should go back to your chambers." He was used to how Andal maidens innocently charmed their prospective husbands. While the sultry Dornish seductresses were adept in luring unsuspecting men to their beds, Arthur had grown up among them and was therefore immune. Ellaria and her gossamer gowns and lusty eyes did nothing to him… but Dacey Mormont in the same… "I could escort you if you like…"

Chuckling, even Dacey was shocked at how throaty and alluring her laugh was. "I don't think so." Face to face with the handsome Sword of the Morning - barely a quarter of a head shorter - she reached up and slowly eased his breastplate off. Not breaking the stare of her forest green eyes. "I want you, Ser Arthur." Her forceful words were belied with a gentle touch on his muscled chest, sweet and affectionate.

Gods… he could see her milky skin underneath the see-through gown. Wild northern beauty on full display doing for him that any southern or Dornish maiden wouldn't even begin. "You... flatter me my lady… but my vows..." Arthur was close to the breaking point and he knew it.

Bold, impatient and arousal demanding everything of her, Dacey silences whatever he wanted to say in a kiss. Forceful and passionate, warmth spreading through her as the dream of the last few moons finally came true.

Whatever protest Arthur might have had went out the window. The want for this goddess of the north just overcame his reservations, mind spinning as if drunk. _Rhaegar had no chance against Princess Lyanna_. Even the man derided as 'Ser Stuffy' by his comrades - and family - had no chance against the northern beauty. The day after may find him regretful, but at that moment Ser Arthur melted into the kiss.

It was far better than anything Dacey could have imagined. One kiss that blew away any of her past sexual experiences. Her lustful eyes kept locked with his purples while she guided his hand to the sides of her breasts - making sure he touched just where Ellaria proved made her wild. Sighing in pleasure. "You're too tightly wrapped, Ser Arthur," Dacey husked, cunt soaked. "Let me relax you."

Arthur's senses were clouded… one moment they were standing. The next found them walking to the bed, Dacey slowly stripping him of his tunic and trousers. Then he pushed her robe to the ground, leaving her so gloriously naked. Finally, they were on the mattress, him hovering above her, kissing languidly as he perched between her legs. "Are you sure, Lady Mormont?" There was no stopping this, white cloak or no. "I… I've never done this before…"

Hearing that, the boldness left. Leaving a gentle, sweet remnant. "My handsome knight," she cooed, cupping his cheek. "It's mine too, but I want it. I want you." Dacey reached down to his delicious member. Smearing it with her wetness. "I'm ready, Arthur. Please…" Without warning he bucked inside her, spurring the both of them to bliss.

From outside the door, Ellaria felt a grin curling on her lips at the mixed moans - both male and female. _Oh, I am good._ The pleasure houses of Lys should learn from her.

"Please… my knight…" came a desperate voice through the door. "Harder…"

Shaking her head with a giggle, Ellaria decided to give her friend some privacy. _Exquisite_.

* * *

_"Father! Please don't…!"_

_Smack! A young maiden - no maiden - falling to the ground, handprint on her face. "You have no right to make requests of me, slut!" The indefatigable Tywin Lannister, calculating and quiet to the world, when he did deign to lose his temper he roared like the lion he was. "You will fucking drink it!"_

_Sobs tore through her willowy body, face caked in tears and snot. "No!" She moved to stand on shaky legs, trembling with fear and resolve. "I will not!"_

_A punch to the gut followed. Knocking the wind out of her, she collapsed again only to be kicked in the side, screaming in pain. "Do not fucking speak back to me!"_

_"Brother," begged her youngest uncle, the other two joining her aunt and their mates in watching… unable to truly look. "She's your daughter…"_

_"No, she's a worthless whore that tried to reenact the Targaryen breeding practices in this castle. I will not have it. I WILL NOT HAVE IT!" He waved to his sworn sword… a massive giant of a man with three dogs weaved on his tunic. "Hold her down."_

_She tried to resist, screaming, clawing, pounding her fists against the solid wall of muscle with all her might, but it proved useless. He was just too strong. "No! You will not take him away from me!" Her hands wanted to cup the slight swell of her abdomen… only the man's hand kept hers pinned above him. Other one grasping her chin._

_Tywin remained unresponsive. "You, Genna. Do it."_

_Tears fell down her cheeks. "I won't do it, brother." Her weakling of a husband, gulping, stood strong by his wife._

_"Fine! I'll do it myself!" Grabbing the small flagon containing the contraceptive brew, he kneeled, pinching her nose just as the mountain of a man kept her head still. "Relax daughter. This will soon be over." His smirk was the last thing she saw as the moon tea fell down her open throat, world exploding in a flash of light._

_The flash found her in front of the Sept of Baelor. An immense crowd in front of her - in front of many. Girl bearing fire-red hair, a manicled prisoner, Kingsguards in strange armor… and one young man. Crown atop his head, but hair a golden blonde instead of the silver of a Targaryen King._

_"But they have the soft hearts of women!" He proclaimed, drawing queer looks from the redheaded girl._

_It was a haze, a blur by the heat of the scorching summer sun. She wanted to shed her thick winter's dress but unable to. Rooted in place while the roar of a crowd boomed around her._

_"BRING ME HIS HEAD!"_

_Cries of mercy and pain rang out, steel gleaming as an executioner approached a condemned man. Ordered by the same golden-haired monster. "This is madness," she heard herself whispering, but no care. Only a bloodlust as the sword swung. Meeting the exposed of the man just as he looked at her… making her scream._

_Ned Stark..._

Shooting upright, covers flinging in every direction, Cersei Lannister could only hear the heavy breaths sucked into her lungs. The almost painful thump of her heart. Soaked with sweat, Iit was as if the rains of Castamere had drenched her. Head spinning as she made out the dark confines of her chambers in the Rock.

_A dream… just a dream…_ One that felt as real as the half-moon outside. As real as her hands right in front of her.

The day that had been her nightmares for years. The moment Tywin Lannister made the problem of his incestuous children 'disappear.' Shoved into the dank halls of Casterly Rock never to grace the lips of any but a lion. So much did she hate her father for that. Blame him for ripping her beautiful child from her womb…

But the vicious little boy in her dreams… Cersei remembered the eyes, the same shade of green as hers. As Jaime's. The pure madness inside of them...

A hand drifted to cup her stomach - Cersei remembering when her palms had ghosted over a slight swell. _Was that my child? What my child would have…_ She collapsed onto the bed, the images of Ned Stark's head falling from his body still ripping through her.

Feeling her stomach churn, Cersei scrambled out of bed. Grasping for the thankfully empty chamber pot. Acid stinging her throat as she puked her guts out, groaning between heaves. She'd been doing that more recently, but nowhere as violent as this.

Not that she didn't know why. _Ned…_ Try as she did to forget, he never left her thoughts. Memories of them together haunting her every waking moment. It was futile, she'd never forget him. In the bottom of her heart, Cersei knew she had fallen in love with him as strenuously as she would deny it consciously.

Only now, the images of him bare as he gave her the greatest pleasure were replaced by his head falling to the ground, killed by the nameless face of her child while she watched. Condoning it, almost...

_I'm not that monster… I'm not…_

But those eyes were hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Dacey finally got her man :D
> 
> Turns out that Cersei has a different backstory here. Hope y'all think it works.
> 
> Catelyn... I think that's the way a more youthful and immature Catelyn would act. Remember, she didn't go to Winterfell before until she was a wife and mother already.
> 
> Next chapter: Aerys conducts a ceremony.


	29. Dragons Don't Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone.
> 
> Hope y'all are weathering this well. Stay safe everyone.
> 
> Updated the tags and the cover art (looking for an original artwork for this story). 
> 
> As a point of clarification, I have aged Renly Baratheon to 14. This is important for later developments.
> 
> Also for clarification, yes, the endgame for Jon is for him to emulate his father and take two women for his brides. Feel free to discuss in the comments.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

Hooves of her mount thundering to a gradual halt, Princess Lyanna Targaryen clutched her abdomen. Urging the churning stomach to calm down as the race ended. Distracting herself by an incredulous look at Rhaegar. "I can't believe you beat me."

Standing tall as he guided Moondancer into a strut, even the stallion looked to lord over Winter, who neighed irritatedly. Rhaegar laughed. "There's a first time for everything, wife."

Heart racing, Lyanna sucked in a frigid breath. It calmed the slight tempest in her stomach, rare but not uncommon after a strenuous ride. Not to mention it made her feel like home. Though snow rarely reached down here, the bayside chill was so welcome to her… and if she needed warmth, she could always snuggle against her hearth of a husband. "This was wonderful, Rhaegar. Thank you."

Leaning over on his saddle, Rhaegar meant to kiss her lips but the jostle smacked him onto her nose instead. Lyanna giggled, beaming at him anyway. "Getting away from it all with a beautiful woman… most men would envy that."

"Yet you are the only man to enjoy my company, my dragon." Winter and Moondancer settled into a calm walk. "Lord Arryn wrote from Gulltown. Benjen's on his way." She was delighted that her baby brother would soon be here.

"I look forward to meet him. Planning on knighting him once Arthur confirms he's up to the oath - which considering what you've said of him will be a formality."

"Oh certainly. Benjen was born for this, and far better than him taking the black like we all thought." By her side instead of freezing at the Wall? _I'll take that in a heartbeat._ "You know… speaking of Arthur, he's been enjoying himself recently."

"Been smiling more, Gods know why…" he was cut off at Lyanna's laugh. "What?"

She shook her head. "You are oblivious sometimes, my love. Arthur's taken Dacey as his lover."

"Arthur? Arthur Dayne?!" His jaw dropped.

"Yes, Arthur Dayne… and if you say anything I'll cut your balls off." Lyanna's eyes narrowed. "Dacey's finally happy and I'm not gonna stand her losing it."

Rhaegar held up his hands. "Who am I to stand in the way of love?" Her smile returned. "Ah, we're here."

An eyebrow rose. "Trees?"

"Yeah." Rhaegar dismounted from Moondancer. "You'll enjoy it, I promise."

Hitching Winter to the gate in the low stone wall, Lyanna walked into the copse with inquisitive eyes. "These look like Northern trees," Lyanna exclaimed, laughing as she twirled around. Enjoying the cool air blowing out from Blackwater Bay.

"Queen Alysanne inherited her grandmother's love of nature." Rhaegar watched, drinking in the sight of his free-spirited bride. "She fell in love with the Wolfswood of Winterfell and had several saplings brought here." Had Lyanna been married to Robert, that spirit would have been crushed but as a Targaryen Princess she thrived. The Prince wouldn't have it any other way, deeply in love with his wild northern beauty.

Invigorated by the piney scent that reminded her so much of home, Lyanna found it so welcome moment after a moon in King's Landing. Recovering in the depth of nature's embrace… a flash of crimson halted her. Curiosity turning to shock turning to wonder... "But… how?"

In the middle of the copse of trees was a Weirwood sapling. Small and only just beginning to branch out into the lush canopy of blood-red leaves. One of only a few left in Westeros. "Howland keeps several saplings in Greywater Watch," Rhaegar explained. "Was glad to give me one..."

"To create a Godswood on Dragonstone…" she clasped her hands on her mouth. "To create me a Godswood on Dragonstone."

"You needed a wedding gift, my love." Smiling sheepishly, he drew out a Valyrian steel catspaw dagger, one he had taken off Maelys the Monstrous after Barristan mortally wounded him. "It was considered the greatest honor of a First Man to mark a new Weirwood with the face of the gods." Rhaegar placed it in Lyanna's palm. "The honor is yours."

Trembling, Lyanna was guided as if by an innate knowledge to the hard surface of the wood. Dragon-forged steel carving through the wood, wonderment spreading in a massive smile. Energy of her father and mother's gods coursing through her. Time passing to reveal a crude yet haunting face in the wood. Forever to watch all that would grace the Godswood - from Lyanna to her children and grandchildren… all thanks to the man she called her husband.

Facing him once again, Rhaegar took a step back. When before her expression was one of amazement, now a wolfish hunger covered it. "Lya?"

In a split second Lyanna straddling him on the ground in a savage kiss. "You are mine, Rhaegar," she growled possessively, hands almost ripping off his riding breeches. "My husband… my perfect husband." Yanking them off, she slid down his body till her breath was on his cock. "I will never let this perfect husband go."

He gasped as she licked a stripe up his length. "Lucky man am I."

"No, I'm the lucky one." She kissed the tip. "Wife of a wonderful, powerful dragon." Without hesitation Lyanna took him in her mouth. Forcing Rhaegar's head back, warm mouth around his throbbing cock quenching the straining pressure but adding countless more.

Hearing a rustling as the she-wolf slurped his cock, Rhaegar's own eyes darkened at seeing one hand buried under her hiked up her skirts. Frigging herself frantically. Just as she let go, Rhaegar roared and pulled her to straddle him again. Lyanna's lust-filled eyes meeting his own. "I need to be inside you," he hissed.

Lyanna grabbed a hand, guiding it to palm her breast. Moaning as she impaled herself on the only cock she would ever have. "So do I."

* * *

"Summoned by the King." Tyrion tried to keep up with the Lord of Winterfell's long strides. "Gods, I'm coming up in the world."

Rickard snorted, unable to resist a smirk. "No, I was summoned by the King. You simply insisted on joining me."

"And would you begrudge me for it?'

"Not a smart thing, Tyrion." The lad had been an irritating if persistent applicant to his staff, but the boy was quite bright - at least one of Tywin's children had to inherit his skills, Tyrion able to do the work without difficulty. Wasn't a bad choice at all… even if Tyrion was as stubborn as he was now. "You should have stayed."

The Imp looked up at him. "Want me to miss whatever juicy thing the King is cooking up? Not on my watch, Lord Rickard."

"The King doesn't like Lannisters."

"My own father barely considers me a Lannister."

Lord Stark sighed. "Alright, I warned you though."

They were the last of the Small Council in the Throne Room, though surprisingly Queen Rhaella was there as well. She flanked the throne along with Connington, currently speaking with Lord Velaryon and Lord Tyrell. Rickard's choice to stand by was obvious. "Lord Stark, Lord Tyrion," Rhaella expressed warmly.

Tyrion bowed. "My Queen. I would kiss your hand, but…" He gestured to his legs, smirking.

Rhaella laughed. "You have Joanna's sense of humor." That… touched Tyrion in a way smiling broadly. "So, any knowledge of what this is about?"she asked Rickard.

He shrugged. "I wanted to ask you."

"This is about the eggs." All three of them looked at Lord Varys, hands behind his back. "His Grace has a collection of dragon eggs that I procured him. Wishes to do what his father failed to do."

The Queen paled. "Gods… is that why Rossart is here?" The skeletal royal pyromancer stood to the side, fingers fiddling. Memories of the Tragedy at Summerhall still haunted her mind.

Varys smiled softly "Don't worry my dear, this won't go as your father made it. I've seen to that."

"Forgive me if I don't believe you," Rickard replied, Varys' wan smile not falling.

"Make way for the King!" The herald smacked his staff atop the stone floor. Everyone in the Throne Room bowed as Aerys emerged from his chamber, once a storage space for the trappings of ceremony - now his own personal work chamber and living quarters. Hair scraggly, nails untrimmed, royal robes splotched with various stains he didn't bother to clean up… nothing like a King. And yet carried himself as one. Proud, powerful, in control of his destiny. _Control, Dunk, it is I that have control… and power._ Hopefully soon, the ultimate expression of Targaryen power would be in his hands.

Sitting atop the Iron Throne, Aerys finally looked at his gathered council. Missing his son, but he'd rather not have that moralizing brooder here. "You have my leave to rise," he drolled, absentmindedly waving his hand. _Varys, Stark, Rhaella…_ Turns out there was someone between his wife and his Master of Coin. A half-man. "Who the fuck are you?'

At that moment, Tyrion realized that Rickard may have been right. "Tyrion…" He gulped. "Tyrion Lannister, your Grace."

"Tywin's brat?"

"Aye." He waited for the coming storm…

Only to be followed by a simple laugh. "Welcome Imp. You'll be looking up to your King today." Many laughed at the King's jape, though some rather halfheartedly.

Tyrion laughed too, knowing it was a must. "Good one, your Grace." Watching the King slap his knee, Tyrion felt himself his father's son - an effortless liar. _Everyone who makes a joke about a dwarf's height thinks he's the only person who made a joke about a dwarf's height._

"Alright." Aerys' bark silenced the hall. "Send for the maeges."

Led in by Alliser Thorne, Lady Melisandre was in front, eyes a piercing red. The others were disarmed members of the Fiery Hand, personal bodyguards of the Faith of R'hllor, while two were dressed in crimson robes of sorcerers…

Beside Rickard, the Lord of Winterfell heard Varys take a sharp intake of breath. "Presenting," the herald began, "The Priestess Melisandre of Asshai, representative of the Temple of R'hllor in Volantis…" Glancing as the herald continued with Aerys' titles, he found the Master of Whisperers paling in terror. _What's wrong, Lord Varys..._

"Lady Melisandre. I was told that you can help me with my predicament," the King stated.

She smirked. "Of course, your Grace. As long as Lord Rossert complied with my instructions."

A cough suddenly echoed in the room, drawing Aerys' attention. Eyes blazing at a young priest, hair a scraggly red and balding. From how he was swaying slightly, Tyrion deduced he was drunk. "You! What's your name?!"

The young priest gazed glassily at the King. "I… uh… forgot, your Grace."

Melisandre quickly saved him. "His name is Thoros, your Grace. Leader of the Fiery Hand, strong with the Lord."

"Hmphh," Aerys huffed. "Let me give you a lesson in court procedure." He stalked right up to the man, smelling the wine on his breath as Thoros struggled to remain still. "First and only lesson, my word is the fucking law! I tell you to piss off, what do you do?"

Thoros hiccuped. "I… piss off?"

"You'll go far in my court. Now piss off." Walking to the Iron Throne, the King peeked over his shoulder to see Thoros still standing there. "Well?"

"Just deciding whether to piss off on… hic... the floor here or one of the columns…" Easing down his breeches a bit as he walked to the closest column, Thoros sighed in relief as he passed stream of urine. The reactions of the courtiers were mixed between scandal from Pycelle to barely disguised laughs from Tyrion, Rickard, and even Rhaella.

Nodding in approval at Thoros' direct action, Aerys' eyes fell on his small council. "Connington, why are they laughing?" Thoros was only doing what he himself had ordered. "WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?!" Everyone shut up, the throne room silent except for the still flowing piss. "The eggs!" He ran out of patience, screaming at the Kingsguards. "Get the eggs!"

Ser Jonothor nodded, gesturing to the servants. "You heard his Grace. Move your arses!"

"Any man who drops them loses his head!" the King screamed at them.

The servants manhandled the massive braziers, three hefting each in order not to spill the coals… or the precious eggs. _Eight dragon eggs._ Tyrion stared with wonder, the spherical shapes radiating power even ossified. The hall began to reek of smoke as the servants placed the braziers between the dias and the maeges.

"Start," Aerys ordered Melisandre.

"Are they coated?" she asked Rossart in the corner.

"With a thin film of wildfire, Priestess," he croaked in his raspy voice.

Melisandre nodded. "Those. Get them ready for me." The two sorcerers stepped forward, one glancing up at Varys with a twinkling mirth before lighting the eggs.

All but Melisandre and the King flinched as the green flames exploded into life. Thin coating of wildfire filling the room with heat. While Aerys gazed with glee, the priestess only smiled softly._ Lord of light… show us the power that resides in these tools of your will… ensure only those destined to wield these great creatures feel their might… A_erys whispered something to Connington, who thereafter whispered something to Prince Lewyn, who rushed out shortly after.

What seemed like hours passed before the wildfire died down. Wisps of smoke rising from the eggs, almost glowing with heat. "Your Grace," Melisandre began. "Dragons bond with a preordained dragonrider. The strongest bonds create unburnt blood and flesh. Find your egg and make your bond."

He stood, eyes glowing with anticipation. They were his, Aerys swore he could feel their power. Their fire. A drive deep within his very blood to hold them… _There!_ The black and red in the center - it would be his. _My dragon._ He walked to the egg, hands out. _Aerys the Sunrise Dragon, the Fyremancer. Aerys the Great..._

It burned him.

Aerys leaped back, howling in pain. Hands seared when his fingers and palm brushed over them. Pycelle darted forward as on instinct. "Your Grace, may I…"

With a snarl Aerys hurled Pycelle to the floor. His rage erupted, grabbing a large candlestick and tossing it across the room as the council watched, trying to melt into the floor. "I AM THE DRAGON!" He was the reborn hero, the blood of the dragon that would break the Curse of Old Valyria. "I will bring the saviors to stop the Doom! Me!"

"Your Grace." The voice was of Prince Lewyn. "I have brought Prince Viserys at your orders." It was Rhaella's turn for the blood to drain from her face. Struggling to put aside her terror as the little boy with bouncing silver curls was led in.

Grumbling, anger petering out, Aerys looked at his youngest son. "What too you so long, you fucking walked here?!" Without letting the Kingsguard answer, he waved to Viserys. "Get over there, my son." He turned to Rhaella. "Say nothing or I'll strangle you." Behind, Jaime Lannister's hand tightened on his sword, but no one noticed.

Having been busy with his tutor all day, Viserys had gone along with a bright smile on his youthful face. To have his father - the mightiest King in the history of House Targaryen - to approve and love him was the greatest thing he could achieve. "Father… what…" His eyes widened. "Dragon Eggs?"

"Yes, Viserys. Touch one." The boy blinked, unsure. "A dragon cannot burn, touch one!"

Hesitantly, Viserys reached out his hand. Unsure of which of the beautiful eggs to touch… suddenly guiding his attention to a particular one, as if a gentle whisper called out to him. Slowly bringing it to the blood red scales, Viserys' purple eyes shone brightly. Fingers just approaching the scales…

"Ahhhhh! Kepa, it burns!" Only instead of the fussing love of a worried father, Viserys found himself slapped in the face.

"I knew you weren't a dragon! Get out!"

Tears formed in the Prince's eyes. "I am a dragon, _kepa…"_

Rhaella felt tears prick her, wishing to run to her son.

But Aerys wouldn't have it. "GET THE FUCK OUT!" _You won't corrupt me, Jenny!_ No matter how many priests, pyromancers, maeges, and mystics he brought to the capitol he would unlock the secret of the dragons in the way his idiot father and useless brother couldn't._ I am the dragon!_

* * *

"Shhh, baby boy." Rhaella felt as if she was being stabbed, each sob from her young son being the knives doing the painful work. Gently, she stroked Viserys' trembling back, matted hair. "It'll all be alright."

The tiny prince only sobbed further. "No! No, _muna_, it won't." Never having seen his father behave in such an… inhuman way, the sobbing Prince had nearly tripped over himself twice in scrambling to his chambers. Crying on his bed, even when his mother wrapped her arms around his back. "_Kepa_ hates me!"

She gave a quick look of anguish to Ser Jaime in the doorway before leaning down to kiss the crown of her son's head. "Oh, Viserys." Hands red from the heat of the eggs, a large red handprint marred his cheek. "Kepa doesn't hate you, sweet hatchling. He…" Viserys adored his father, and she struggled to find a way to phrase the truth properly to not hurt him even more. "Your father is very preoccupied with ruling. It's his burden, not yours…"

"Muna, I'm a dragon?" he choked out.

Rhaella gently brushed her fingers through his curls - wanting to both kiss his pain away and strangle Aerys "You will be a strong Prince…"

"No! Tell me I'm a dragon!" came the shrill cry, Viserys turning to blaze at her. Eyes once of pain, they now held a sudden anger. "I felt the power! Felt the egg move!" For a moment, Rhaella saw Aerys' eyes. It caused her to flinch.

Holding him ever closer, Rhaella kissed his brow and forehead. _Aerys… he got to him…_ It wasn't a stretch to infer that as the cause of Viserys' pain. "You are a dragon, my son. Fire made flesh."

Hot tears soaked her dress. "Fire burns… but dragons don't burn… I burn, _muna."_

"That doesn't matter… you are still a dragon."

That seemed to calm him. A few errant sniffles but otherwise the crying petering out. When the Queen looked down, she saw the usually carefree boy's expression harden. "I will be a dragon! Make kepa proud!"

"Shh, my son. Rest."

"I will…" his voice started to trail off, exhaustion and stress overcoming him. "I will make him proud…"

"Sleep. Just sleep, little dragon."

_"Kepa…_ proud… me…" In sleep, the childhood serenity returned. Pain evaporating as slumber claimed him.

Unable to hold her own tears back, Rhaella stood, legs quivering. Closing the door to viserys' bedchamber ever so gingerly… yet knees buckling right after. Falling into Jaime's waiting embrace - too worried to even bother with propriety. "Gods, Jaime… what am I going to do?"

While he hadn't been there during the breadth of the marriage between the King and Queen, Jaime had seen Rhaella largely put together and stoic in her dealings with Aerys… never did she break down in a despondent anguish until recently. "Perhaps a visit to Dragonstone, your Grace? Be with Rhaegar, your grandchildren, and your gooddaughters."

"He'll never let me leave, Jaime. Never… I can't let my baby suffer the same fate as my brother… I just can't."

As she trembled in Jaime's arms, all he could do was rub her back. Even with how she dismissed him the last time he truly held her close, Jaime ignored it. Knowing she needed comfort. Trying to hide how much he enjoyed feeling her slender body pressed against his.

Sighing deeply Rhaella extracted herself from the embrace. She walks towards the window, simply staring out into space. "I saw them all."

Her voice was flat… hollow. Nothing like the beautiful lilt that had entranced Jaime from day one. "Saw who, my Queen," he asked hesitantly. Hating that the woman that he loved was hurting and he couldn't truly bring her joy.

It just… felt so easy to talk to her guard. Unlike anyone but her son and gooddaughters, he always listened. "My children. All of them, even in death." Rhaella reached out, fingering the curtains. "Shaena, Daeron, Aegon, Jaehaerys… even those stillborn that never recieved a name… I remember them all. Loved them all."

Jaime nodded as she turned. Each day it seemed her gentle, joyful spirit was chipped away. Begun with her dead children and continued by her uncaring husband. _He never deserved her._

Wrapping her arms around her chest protectively, the grimace on Rhaella's face made her look far older than she was. Far older than when she smiled. "Only two babes surviving out of ten, Jaime… and… oh gods." She gasped. "And Aerys wants to have more with me! "

The kingsguard walked briskly to her, holding her upper arms… trying to resist the urge to comfort her more intimately. "Please don't, my Queen."

But Rhaella couldn't help herself, sobbing once more. "My womb is hostile to life, Jaime. If I lose one more…" _I don't think I could go on living._ It was an unsaid thought, but Jaime understood nevertheless. Like a mace to his own chest. "And even if I bear a healthy child. Aerys will just take him or her away from me as he did with Viserys. I may never even get to see my babes…"

Her words tapered off as Jaime hugged her tightly. The gesture almost instantaneously calming the Targaryen Queen, simply giving in. Silver hair pressed against his shoulders and strong arms making her feel safe. "You can't torture yourself like this, your Grace. Strength of a dragon lies within, you just need to keep fighting."

Pulling back, peering at him, she nodded. "Thank you, Ser Jaime." A wan smile formed. "It's too bad, your embrace would have made any lady swoon."

Forcing a smile of his own, Jaime reached for the helm resting on a side table. "How about we get you some fresh air in the gardens. Let the Prince rest." At her nod he set a pace behind her, sighing inaudibly. _She didn't deserve any of this… she deserves all the babes in the world._

_A babe having strong Lannister blood would undoubtedly survive._ Such thoughts, so tempting and wonderful in his mind, only brought sorrow to Jaime. He should follow his own advice to not torture himself… but like his twin, Jaime was truly weak.

* * *

Catching his wife shivering as another draft swept through the cavernous corridor, Rhaegar pulled her closer to him. "Would you like my cloak, my dear?"

Elia turned her head with a tender look. "Thank you, husband, but it's not necessary." Her hands rubbed along the fitted sleeves of her woolen dress. "Lyanna was kind enough to lend me one of her dresses.

The Crown Prince nodded. "It was. Looks warm." He eyed it over, appreciating the outfit in a far… different respect. While she had plenty of warm Crownlands dresses to do the job her thin Dornish gowns wouldn't, the baggy folds and awkward sleeves made them a pain. Nothing like the elegant simplicity of Lyanna's northern gowns… or how they fit the female form so snugly.

"Delightfully warm, though I think that is the point," she grinned. "I'm still irritated at the Citadel for the false spring." The sudden drop in temperatures after a slight warmth during the Tourney had been interpreted by the Most Devout as a horrible omen. Against his better judgement, Rhaegar couldn't help but worry…

Thankfully, he had his gorgeous wives to calm him. Especially Elia - the concerns he had addressed to his mother and Aemon were growing weaker by the day, his dragonblood boiling hotter each time he took his beloved Dornish Princess with the same power as he tamed his wolf. Their past slowly melting into affection, Elia returning to the flirty charm that so characterized the family. Unlike what Lyanna happily gushed in bed after they made love that morning, Rhaegar knew things had not completely repaired, but was determined to overcome for the last four years of mistakes - his mistakes.

"My Prince?" Huffing, Elia smacked his shoulder, shaking him from his daze. "Are my words boring you, husband?"

He blinked, shaking his head. "Forgive me love, just distracted by something." Hips and breasts just slightly fuller from carrying Rhaenys and Aegon, Lyanna's dresses were a bit tight on Elia. Everything covered but on display.

She smirked. "You're quite transparent."_ He must know I can see him staring._ "Lustful Prince. Coveting your own wife so brazenly?" She was going to attack him that night in his chambers, so couldn't he wait?

"I doubt you can blame me." He grinned, not denying it.

"You're insatiable."

"You adore it." Elia bit her lip. He spoke the truth.

Descending the steps of the outer courtyard, their conversation changed from the flirty to the serious. Rhaegar eager to keep Elia's attention elsewhere. "Oberyn has arrived in Sunspear, but his efforts are… not bearing much fruit."

"I presume that Doran hasn't forgiven the insult of my marriage to Lyanna."

She winced. "He hasn't been… even remotely kind since I failed to send him whispers of the royal court anymore." She was honest about her half-hearted efforts to act as Doran's spy. Even attempting had kept she and Rhaegar distant. "Oberyn won't make direct overtures without Doran's tacit acceptance."

Rhaegar nodded. "Which leaves the Daynes and Yronwoods."

"And the Wyls. They hate the Reach, which is in Aerys' camp, and will want influence." It hurt to undermine her family, but House Martell wasn't her first allegiance anymore.

"I think Lady Olenna is smart enough to see that as foolish."

"Lady Olenna is not the one on the Small Council. Mace may be a fool, but he's close enough to the King to bind House Tyrell in a manner to make it impossible to retract."

Rhaegar nodded grimly. "Since the Hightowers follow the Faith and Robert Baratheon hates us… getting the Dornish Marches are our best shot."

Elia raised an eyebrow. "You don't think his apology to the Starks was sincere?"

"Not a chance in hells."

"I always did admire your keen mind."

Passing under the arch of the Dragon's Tail, Rhaegar extended the loop of his arm. Wlia accepted with a gentle smile. Allowing him to escort her through the gardens that branched out along the lush volcanic soil. "It's been a while since we've been here together, wife."

Eyes fluttering shut, Elia nodded as she inhaled the piney scent of Aegon's Gardens. "Aye, it has," she murmured, following him along the well-hewn stone paths committed to memory. The forest of tall dark trees, wild roses, and cranberries was her serene refuge on Dragonstone. "I often take Rhaenys here, but you… you've been far too busy to come with me."

He hung his head. "I know." It was known to both of them that he blamed himself, and Rhaegar didn't wish to relitigate it. "You must have found out I built a Godswood for Lyanna."

Sighing, Elia murmured in the affirmative. The Dornish Princess knew the political nature of their marriage… even as they were growing closer than ever before. "It was a beautiful gesture, Rhaegar. You are very romantic."

"I try to be… to both my brides."

The smile stretched sadly. "Lyanna is your great love, Rhaegar. I am the mother of your children and that will always make us close, and I long accepted that. You have no need to brood over it…"

Grabbing her shoulders, Rhaegar stilled her. Eyes filled with a passionate intensity. "Don't say that again, Elia. You are so much more to me than that. I know I haven't… this is the least I can do to show you how much I love you."

"Rhaegar…" Even through the passion and love of the last moonturn, this caused her heart to flutter. "Wait… what is the least you can do?"

Lips curling into a knowing grin, Rhaegar weaved their fingers together. "Just around the corner."

Noticing it for the first time as he guided her, Elia looked up at the new row of hedges planted at the edges of the gardens. Where the hottest part of the bubbling volcanic springs that made the gardens warm enough for planting year-round. Her eyebrows rose as they rounded the hedges, only for both to fly up as her jaw dropped. "What…"

It was unfinished. Dug out holes contrasting with stacked bricks of sandstone and limestone… but Elia wasn't stupid. Lines of palm trees and flowers, feeding off the warmth of the springs. Unfinished columns and pathways styled in the same fashion as her childhood home - dug trenches forming a distinctive geometry of the pools of…

"I know, it's harder to make than a simple northern Godswood, but I wanted you to see." Rhaegar walked to wrap his arms around her shoulders. "Our marriage brought you away from your home at only five-and-ten. You had to endure being in a strange place without familiarity, and I was too foolish to realize it."

"The Water Gardens…" she murmured, turning around. Dark eyes glistening with warmth.

He nodded. "Aye. You always felt so serene in Aegon's Gardens, so you deserved a slice of home. I'm sorry if it's too late…" Rhaegar was cut off - for the second time in twenty-four hours - as one of his wives quickly pressed her lips against his.

Warmth spread through Elia. A love indescribable for the man before her - he had planned this… planned the sweetest of gifts for the both of them. "No," she breathed as she kissed him desperately. "It's perfect… you're perfect." Whatever problems between them, Elia knew enough to enjoy this to its fullest. "I love you, so much." Gods, it felt so good to say.

Rhaegar chuckled as she pulled him to a stone bench, his cloak covering the both of them as Elia began working at the laces of his trousers. "I love you too."

Gasping, Elia angled her hips so that he could hike up her dress. Feeling his hands move from the hem to her breasts. Moaning deeply into his mouth as he squeezed them. "Rhaegar… I… I want… us…"

"I know, Elia, I know." Falling into the crook of her neck, his length slid into her already wet slit. Both of them groaning. "I won't let us fail… not when, ugh, we finally have each other." Sighing in pure joy and lust, Elia lost herself as he began rocking into her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we admit that Rhaegar knows what gifts to give his brides? :D
> 
> And here we have Viserys entering the frying pan. A victim of his father's growing insanity with the dragon eggs. Poor Rhaella, having to see this happen. But at least she has Jaime.
> 
> Next chapter, Tywin makes a betrothal, and the Bear Knight makes his first appearance. Thirty-five reviews and I'll post on Saturday.


	30. Expectancy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody. Hope your weekend is going well with all that's going on.
> 
> About the issues with the revelation from the last chapter: yes, Jon will emulate his father and Aegon the Conqueror by taking a second bride alongside Daenerys. Yes, it will be obvious who that lucky lady is rather soon. No, it won't be underdeveloped or appear out of nowhere. I intend to make it work and purge all the season 8 bullshit out of the characters so that they are more natural. Fandom wars don't interest me so no character will be bashed beyond their base personality showing itself. I'm gonna take all characters into some interesting avenues, so I'm asking y'all to have an open mind.
> 
> I don't intend to disappoint anyone reading. Be they Jonerys fans or otherwise.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

"Well. Seems like you have the stomach malady, my Lady."

Cersei rolled her eyes. "Oh? I had no idea," she huffed sarcastically.

Her insults were lost on Maester Gladyn - the stooped ancient figure's mind close to senility. Doddering around the spacious workroom, his unchanging loyalty to House Lannister ensured that Tywin wouldn't get rid of him even when Gladyn was past his prime. "Ah, here we go. A salt tonic that will ease the tempest in your belly." He handed a vial to her, snorting back a mouthful of phlegm. "Take this now, and once before every meal."

Cersei was simply too fatigued to lash out. "Thank you, maester," she finally murmured. Pushing herself off the chair. "I shall leave you to your work."

Walking through the airy courtyards and hallways of the great keep of Casterly Rock - nestled high up and carved into the massive mountain of stone overlooking Lannisport harbor - Cerei barely noticed the beautiful views of the sparkling ocean or the interior gardens. Each step she took through the courtyard felt like she was swimming in syrup. It had taken all of her strength to emerge from bed that morning… all Cersei chalked it up to missing Ned. How he held her, kissed her, deliciously thrusting inside her…

_Gods, I miss him. Why must this happen to me?!_

The sound of swords clashing was enough to roust her mind from its torpor. Apparently five men were assaulting one, but unlike Arthur Dayne's supreme skill Ser Gregor Clegane simply beat aside any foe with his massive bulk. Any man that ran at the mad dog was sent to the ground in one swing of his sword or his fist.

Shuddering at the thought of her father's personal butcher, Cersei turned a corner only to nearly run into someone. Unlike before when this happened - the first time she met her Ned, ironically enough - the visage before her made her flinch. "Lady Cersei," belted Sandor Clegane, his yellow teeth baring into a grin as he found his quarry. "Lord Tywin wants you in his solar."

Trying to ignore the man's half-scarred face - checkered and leathery skin quite disgusting to the eyes - Cersei scowled. "And what does my father wish from me, dog?"

If Sandor was irritated by the common taunt, he didn't show it. He must've heard worse in his day. "Does it look like the Lord of Casterly Rock shares his mind with me?' he deadpanned.

"Ugh, fine." Sandor, like his brother, was a sworn sword to her father. If he was sent to escort Cersei, Tywin was the one behind it. "I'll lead the way."

"Go ahead, my Lady." Before Cersei could brush past him, Sandor's eyes narrowed dangerously. There was Gregor, glaring daggers at Sandor. Their loathing of each other still burning as hotly as the forge that Gregor had shoved Sandor's face into when they were boys. Everyone in Casterly Rock knew that story. _I hate Sandor, but…_ Cersei wouldn't wish that fate on anybody. "Come on." She tugged on his arm, urging him to let it go. "I'm not waiting all day, hound." Sending one last glare at his brother, Sandor complied.

It grew audible even at the beginning of the long corridor. A rage-fueled roar that shook the very stone that Casterly Rock was carved out of. "What in Seven Hells is happening?" Cersei muttered as she approached the door to her father's solar.

"I believe Lord Tywin is yellin' at some poor, dumb cunt," Sandor said flatly, face expressionless when Cersei glared at him.

Cersei could finally make out the specific voices. "Stop being a godsdamned fucking idiot for once in your cursed life!"

"Just because I don't have a stick up my ass about my 'legacy' doesn't mean my life is cursed, brother!" _Uncle Gerion…_

She could picture her father fuming, struggling not to strangle his youngest brother. "By the Seven… if I hadn't promised mother on her deathbed that I wouldn't kill you, I'd kill you."

Gerion scoffed. "Please, you'd actually shit gold before you spilled the family's blood."

"I'm not letting you become another Tommen II. Disappeared into the ruins of Old Valyria never to be seen again." Cersei's eyes widened. Was her uncle going to Valyria? _He will be killed._

"You always looked out for us Ty, and Kev, Tyg, and I have repaid you in full. I'm sick of being always the least of my siblings! I want to do something to prove that I'm as much of a lion as you all are!"

"You can't be a lion if you're fucking dead!"

"Please brothers." Her uncle Kevan. "Let's calm ourselves…"

"Oh for fuck's sake." Unable to stand this, Sandor pushed Cersei aside and knocked on the door. "My Lord, your daughter is here as requested."

Scowling, Tywin took a seat. Taking a sip of chilled wine to calm his system. "Good, Sandor. Take watch outside and see no one disturbs us."

Sandor nodded, complying as soon as Cersei entered. The scene before her was anticlimactic, but it was clear that there had been an argument. Her father was stoic but flushed, gentle uncle Kevan subdued, while uncle Tygett whispering something to an equally flushed Gerion. "Father," she curtseyed. "Uncles."

"Welcome daughter," Tywin said, though his tone was all but welcome. "Have a seat."

Face blank as she was taught, inside Cersei was shaking. The last time something like this happened, it was to inform her that Aerys had denied her betrothal to Rhaegar. "You summoned me?"

He nodded. "As you know, the proper duty of a Lord's son is to marry and make heirs."

"Then you've been an abject failure in teaching your sons, Ty," Gerion quipped, scowling even as Tygett hit him on the shoulder.

"Nevertheless," Tywin continued. "The duty of a daughter is to produce alliances for the benefit of her house." Cersei's fingers gripped the intricately carved wood of the chair arm. "Your grandfather was a fool in how he handled your aunt's betrothal, and perhaps I miscalculated with you and Rhaegar. Therefore, I have given this some thought and settled on a proper match for your hand."

Cersei's heart was beating out of her chest. There was a faint glimmer of hope that Ned… "Who?"

Tywin leaned forward, elbows resting on his desk. "We are surrounded on all sides, so an alliance with a Lord Paramount would be quite favorable. While I considered either Lord Jon or Ser Elbert Arryn of the Vale, my primary choice for your hand is Lord Robert Baratheon."

It was as if a knife had been plunged into her chest. Rumors of Robert's whoring were the talk of King's Landing, and after what her beloved told her about the Lord of Storm's End… In the cold hard truth of being betrothed, Cersei realized she couldn't find herself in any way content with anyone but Ned.

A tiny smirk found its way to Tywin's lips. _Something to pawn off the Arryns, plus Gerion marrying the younger Tully brat… Aerys, you aren't going to get away with this._ He loved it when he outsmarted his enemies. "Tygett and your Aunt Genna will accompany you to Storm's End…"

"No."

Tywin blinked. "What did you say?"

There was no doubt what was going to happen, but Cersei would not let herself be sold to a would be rapist without every chance to marry Ned. "No, I will not go."

"You do realize I am not asking, correct?" A vein bulged in Tywin's skull.

"I'm sure she's just nervous, brother," Kevan stammered. "Genna can…"

Turning to face Kevan, Cersei's green eyes were as firm as her father's. "I am not nervous, uncle. I will not marry Robert Baratheon."

Three pairs of eyes widened, while one narrowed. "You will if I order you to," Tywin seethed. "And I am."

"What's gotten into you, Cersei?" Tygett stammered.

Breathing deeply, Cersei's only hope was to appeal to her father's strategic mind. "I simply do not think that Robert is a wise choice."

While Tywin nearly rose in anger, Gerion was the first to answer. "And why do you think that, niece?"

_Thank you, uncle._ "Robert is hated by Princess Lyanna. Forming an alliance with him would only antagonize the Targaryens further."

"And who would you suggest for an alliance?"

Cersei gulped, murmuring a silent prayer. "House Stark."

"Brandon Stark is already betrothed to Catelyn Tully," Tygett scoffed. "Unless you wish to marry Lord Rickard?"

"No, Lord Eddard, his second son." Just a tiny bit of joy filled her voice - one Tywin picked up on. "He is close with Princess Lyanna and friends with Prince Rhaegar, and I believe he'll end up Hand of the King someday."

Nodding his head slightly, suddenly Tywin slammed his fist on the desk. "Enough!" He rose, green eyes dark with anger. "You will do as I say!"

Cersei rose as well, trembling but not backing down. "I will not!"

It happened in a flash. One moment Tywin was blindsided by the deliberate disobeyal, the next Cersei was sprawled on the ground - chair knocked over and a stinging pain on her cheek. Tywin standing over her. "How dare you talk back to me!" She tried to sit up when her father grabbed her by her hair. Cersei screeched in pain. "You will marry Robert Baratheon!"

"I'd rather die!" Tywin slugged her across the face. From the pain and the frantic movements, Cersei vomited, doubling over as the Lord of Casterly Rock kicked her in the back. "Father…"

"Don't you father me, you little slut!" He kicked her again, rage clouding his vision and none of his brothers willing to brave his wrath. The wrath that destroyed the Reynes and Tarbecks. "First you fuck your own brother! Having his baby and disgracing my house, but you will not fucking bring what I've done to ruin!"

"Do what… you want…" Cersei gasped, coughing. "But I will never marry that fucking oaf."

Ready to hit her again, Tywin stopped. Too angry to even consider it. "You'll marry him if I have to strap you down and force you at swordpoint!" Spitting on the pathetic sight before him, he stormed out. Followed quickly by Kevan and Tygett.

Curled into a ball, Cersei sobbed quietly. Body aching and heart broken in two - all hope quashed from her. She barely noticed her remaining uncle hug her. "Sandor," Gerion called for the sworn sword. "It's alright, sweetling. You'll be alright."

"No," Cersei choked out. "Nothing'll be alright again."

* * *

Arms wrapped around Dacey's chest, Arthur brought their lips together as his northern lover rode him like a stallion. "Mmmmhhmm!" She whimpered, clenching around his cock. "Make me cum, Arthur." His hips rocked, skin slapping together. Dacey's lips quivered, eyes shut tight. "Oh gods, like that!"

Cunt like a vice trying to force him out, Arthur thrust harder. "So tight." Tongue flicking on her nipples, just the mere gesture caused her to squeal. Quickly, Arthur pulled back, staring into her eyes.

"Just be gentle… don't stop." And stop he didn't, making the she-bear growl above him. Frantically bucking her hips on his cock. Screaming as her climax shattered her completely… his not long after.

Arthur let out a grunt as Dacey collapsed atop him, bodies flush against each other. "Gods. Are you sure you weren't trained in Dorne?"

Nuzzling the Sword of the Morning's neck, Dacey chuckled. _I suppose I was trained by Dorne._ "No. You're just a lucky lucky man to have a northerner in your bed." At her last word she yawned, eyes fluttering shut. "Gods, I'm so tired this morning."

"I suppose what we just did doesn't help matters," Arthur quipped. She shimmied off him, wincing when her breasts slid on his bare chest. They had been lovers for long enough - each other's only lover - for Arthur to memorize most details about Dacey. "Are you alright, my lady?"

She nodded sleepily. "Aye…" Dacey was sluggish. "It's… fine, Ser Arthur."

Sighing, Arthur nodded. Swinging out of bed to don his tunic, trousers, and armor. "As you wish, my Lady." One last look at her beautiful face framed by raven hair, kissed by the last tendrils of moonlight, brought him joy that would brighten his duties.

Whistling, Arthur walked into the Dragonstone great hall. Finding his brothers-in-arms, he was relieved at seeing a small roll, an apple, hard cheese, and a tankard of milk waiting for him. "Saves me a journey to the kitchens," he quipped, knife already smearing the cheese onto the roll. Arthur looked up at his brothers. "What?"

Gerold and Oswell looked at him as if he sprouted three heads, while Barristan wore a hint of a grin. Arthur was never this happy in the mornings - at least until this moon. Today was the most obvious though. "Um… Arthur." Gerold suddenly smirked. "Enjoyed your night?"

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "I do believe you have no authority to ask."

"Come now, you can't hold us out like that, Arthur." Oswell smacked him on the back. "Tell me. Are the northern beauties as wild in coupling as they are generally?"

Barristan kicked Oswell under the table before Arthur could. "Lady Dacey is a highborn and you'll show her respect." It was jovial, but with a hidden steel that forced Oswell to comply. "Sorry about them, Arthur. They're just jealous that they left their mistresses in the capitol." Kingsguards were supposed to be celebate. As was the norm, most didn't bother… Barristan was one that did.

Shrugging, Arthur reached out to pat Oswell's shoulder. "Tis alright. Just don't disrespect Dacey. She means a lot to me."

"Gods, you've fallen for this woman." Gerold looked at him with… respect? "Dare I say love?"

"My vows preclude love," Arthur responded automatically.

"You've always been a stickler," Oswell interjected. "But your vows were broken the moment you slept with her. Dare I say that it means something for you?"

Opening his mouth to respond with the same answer, Arthur found them dying on his tongue. What did he truly wish for with Dacey? "Well." Barristan folded his arms. "I'd like to know this as well, Arthur."

"I…" He'd been so consumed with the physical aspect of his affair with the beautiful Mormont maiden, it was only just know that he realized that Dacey had wormed her way into his heart as well. I_ntelligent, caring, dutiful, and one impressive fighter…_ fighting Ironborn and wildlings had given her a fierce combat skill. They had sparred some, and she lasted quite a long time before he disarmed her. _The perfect lady for any knight._ "I… I guess I've never thought that far ahead between us."

It was an interesting sight - Arthur Dayne fazed by something… or someone. "Don't you think that she may have?" asked Barristan. "If she wished to seduce a kingsguard, then she's either a risk-taker or a woman in love… and I don't think she is the former."

Love. Arthur blinked. _Could it be love?_

_Could I even love?_ He bit into a chunk of the roll, hoping Rhaegar or Lyanna would be up to a spar - clear his head.

* * *

"We's hit by dis madman!"

"You little thief! I should slice your hand off!"

"Tooch my 'ife and I'll cave in yer head!"

Ned slammed his fist on the high table. "SILENCE! SILENCE YOU CUNTS!" The squabbling smallfolk and men-at-arms ceasing their inane yells for once. Both supplicants bowed their heads in submission. "That's better."

He found Lady Catelyn's eyes closed, mouth pursed together. _Not used to how the northerners hold court._ In the Vale, Lord Arryn made sure using his guards to process an orderly court. Andal customs different from that of the First Men, quite a change for the pious Tully.

In all fairness to her, this was a vital headache for the residing Stark of Winterfell. _There must always be a Stark at Winterfell._ While Catelyn wasn't yet a Stark, she would take part in this under Ned's supervision building a proper rapport with the smallfolk that she had failed at upon first impression. Though she spoke little and left most of it to Ned, she was doing rather well so far. "Now, tell me what the issue before me is."

The merchant stepped forward. "My Lord, these common scum." He pointed to a young Wintertown couple. "They sniffed my pies and refused to pay."

"It was only a sniff, mi'lord," said the woman, possessing a simple, earthy beauty.

"How can I sell my pies to the castle if they are tainted by their filthy noses?"

The husband took offense. "You 'ittle prick…!"

"Calm down." Ned turned to the laborer. "That coinpurse, hold it up." Blinking, the man took the little sack from his belt. "Jingle it a bit." The man complied. "There, your sniffed pies are paid for with the sound of coin. This matter is concluded." Boisterous laughter rang out while the merchant's face reddened to that of a ripe beet. But he didn't leave. "Didn't I say this was concluded?"

"You did, my Lord, my Lady. But I have another complaint to level. Against your Household Guard right there!" The merchant pointed at two guards.

Ned sighed deeply. "Dirk. Torrhen. What happened?"

The merchant was still pissed. "They got into a fight and busted up my tavern. Broke three chairs and a table before I heaved them out."

When their Lord's eyes fell on them, Torrhen shrugged. "We got drunk and had a disagreement mi'Lord."

"An explanation but not an excuse. You'll cut the wood to build him new furniture. Matter closed…"

Before he could finish, Catelyn stood up. "Consumed by drink? Tavern brawls?" She looked disgusted. "I expect better from Knights of the Realm."

Both men blinked, shocked. Knighthood and the Faith of the Seven had no place in the North. "Mi'Lady, we're not…"

"Unacceptable! Every member of the Household Guard is to adhere to the code of chivalry. I have seen enough disgraceful behavior."

Hearing murmurs from the onlookers, Ned tried to cut in. "Catelyn, perhaps…"

But she didn't care. "I am placing you in the cells for one week to think about your unchivalrous conduct. Take them away." With the Tully guards already complying with their lady's orders, there was nothing that Ned could do… except watch the glares of the crowds as Catelyn's adherence to southern norms only served to further divide the populace against her.

_Bran can't come back soon enough..._

"Lord Stark."

Court dismissed only moments before, Ned continued walking several paces before he realized that he was being called on. "Oh." He turned, finding a young warrior coiffed hair and a close-cropped beard approaching him. "Forgive me, I'm honestly not used to my father or brother's title," Ned grinned, taking the man's outstretched hand. "What do you need…"

The man smiled. "Jorah. Jorah Mormont."

Finally noticing the bear sigil emblazoned on his leathers. "Ah, Lord Mormont. I'm glad to meet your acquaintance."

Jorah shook his head. "No, the honor is mine to meet the warrior that vanquished the Sword of the Morning."

Ned snorted. "Arthur Dayne is very much alive - it was a mere sparring session." Yet, he couldn't help but enjoy the praise. "Is your father with you?"

"Sadly no. I would have joined my sister in King's Landing but I was stuck at Castle Black… my father is a stickler for the 'Northern duty.' One day he'll take the black, I suppose." Older brother to Dacey, the young bear was a veteran of Ironborn and wildling raids. That and his loyalty made him prime recruitment for the conspirators. "Howland Reed said you wished to speak?"

"Let's talk in my father's solar. Mine until my brother arrives."

"Ah, staying with Lord Stark in the capitol? My congratulations on such an illustrious honor for House Stark, even if Lady Lyanna will have to share the title of Queen."

"Dragons answer to neither gods nor men, and Rhaegar is the perfect man for my sister. They love each other." Ned smiled wistfully just as they reached his solar. Entering, he was not surprised to find Howland waiting for him… Ned was surprised to see who had joined him. "Lord Bolton."

Roose Bolton's narrow eyes and deathly calm exterior hid someone that still flayed men in secret - a man from the house of natural rivals to House Stark. "Lord Eddard. It seems that you have been doing quite well for yourself. Shame the future Lady is causing such grumbles."

There was no good answer to that, so Ned didn't bother. "What do you want, Lord Bolton? I am quite busy."

While the man only smiled, Howland cleared his throat. "He knows, Ned." He winced as the second son's eyes widened. "Don't ask me how."

Resisting the urge to grab his knife - both dishonorable and would cause a certain revolt - Ned reasoned that had Bolton sought to do anything someone would have died by now. "Speak, Lord Bolton. I presume you do have something to say?'

"You presume correctly." Smile still foreboding, he continued. "I have no interest in betraying anyone, and wish to pledge House Bolton to your quest."

"What quest?" Jorah asked in confusion, but was ignored.

Ned's eyes narrowed. "Go on."

"Given what I found of His Grace, I very much doubt he'd be very forgiving of any Northerner if relations with House Stark… had a falling out. I would be in jeopardy, as would the trade agreements I forged with the merchants of the Free Cities."

"Excuse me, but what in seven hells is going on?" Jorah's behavior would have been comical if the subject wasn't so serious.

Sighing once more, Ned pinched the bridge of his nose. "It starts with an attempt by the King to take the life of my sister…"

"Did you see how uncouth these supposed Highborns are?" While many of Catelyn's retinue were struggling to adapt to the North, Septa Mordane was having the worst of it. "Lord Umber left a trail of chicken legs behind him and Lord Cerwyn gave you lustful stares."

"They aren't all uncouth. My goodbrother has honor, and Lord Bolton was rather noble is spite of the reputation his house."

"Well…" The Septa huffed. "While I can't speak for Lord Bolton, Lord Stark was fostered by Lord Arryn. The rest… it's no wonder that the Princess Lyanna and Lady Dacey are the way they are. Even the Dornish have some courtly manners."

Catelyn winced. "Do not speak ill of my goodsister - she is as venerated as the Maiden within these walls." As the Septa quieted down, the future Lady of Winterfell was thankful the hallways were deserted. "Now," she said at finding her chambers. "I'll see you before dinner for the evening prayers."

"Good." Mordane curtseyed. "Till later, my Lady."

Door closing, Catelyn sighed deeply as she fell back against it. Allowing her facade to crumble. Walking through the room, she prayed to the Mother that Brandon would arrive soon - give her an ally among the Northmen. Calm her discomfort with his pleasing touch…

Not wishing to feel her smallclothes dampen with a longing arousal, she took a seat at her desk. Deciding to write the only other person that could truly comfort her at this low point in her life.

_My dearest brother Petyr,_

_I pray to each of the Seven that Edmure, Lysa, and yourself are well in the comfort of our home._

_I cannot begin to explain the North to you, nor how I fondly wish I was in Riverrun. These people are awful. Uncouth, uncultured barbarians one step above wildlings. Ned and perhaps Lords Bolton and Mormont and the only ones that I can tolerate. My fondest wish is that Brandon arrives soon, and that his noble bearing helps me bring culture to this frozen wasteland._

_There is no Sept here, so I am reduced to my rites in my own chambers. When I am the Lady of this castle with children of my own, they shall be raised as proper Lords and Ladies that would be welcome at our home._

_Please write soon, and I hope that you could visit Winterfell sometime in the future. I could use the presence of a true friend._

_Cat._

* * *

Smile stretching from ear to ear, Lyanna watched as the adorable violet-eyed babe crawled shakily to her. "Come here, Egg," she reached out her arms. "Come to _muna."_

Prince Aegon looked up with an open mouth at his birth mother. Elia nodded, smile just as wide. "It's fine, little dragon. Go on."

Without further hesitation, Egg crawled all the way to Lyanna. Giggling as he was scooped up in his _muna's_ arms. "I'm so proud of you!" She hugged Aegon close to her. "I can't believe I missed his first crawl."

"It was amazing," Elia beamed. Ending up wrapping her arms around Lyanna as well. "You'll still have his other moments. Perhaps his first steps, or words?"

"Or our new children." Pressing a kiss to the crown of Aegon's head, Lyanna imagined a child growing within her. Raised by all three of them as it was supposed to be with the conquerors.

Closing her eyes, parsing her sister-wife's words, Elia repeated what had been said over and over again in her head. _Lyanna loves Egg and Rhae._ She'd never usurp them. It hurt her heart that these thoughts even came in her head, so she just hugged the two of them closer. Enjoying her baby's silent murmurs and the piney scent of Lyanna's hair. Unable to resist splaying her hands on her sister-wife's slender back…

Suddenly, Lyanna stood, face green. "Shit…" Scrambling to the window, she voided her stomach of all its contents. Groaning as tears came to her eyes, weakly pounding her fist upon the ledge in frustration. "Motherfucker!"

Luckily, Elia's hold kept Aegon secure. "Language, Lyanna. Not in front of my… our son." She caught herself.

Lyanna wasn't in the proper frame to pick on the faux pax. "Sorry, Elia… seven hells, this is the second time today!" Pulling back, she winced as Elia set Egg back in his crib. "My stomach has been a blowing blizzard for days, then this morning I couldn't break my fast without erupting." Her mouth tasted disgusting. "Gods… why me?"

"Stomach sickness?" Elia inquired, brow risen. "Could be something noxious you've eaten, or a nasty vapor." _Or could be…_ "Do you wish to see Maester Marwyn?"

Sighing, Lyanna nodded. "I think I should." While Maester Luwin had been kind and sweet, she normally hated visiting them and enduring all the pokes and prods and disgusting brews. But the irritation in her abdomen was just getting to her. "Yes, let's go."

After kissing Aegon's sleeping cheek one last time, Lyanna walked slowly down the corridors towards the Maester's quarters. Elia's arm around her waist, helping her along. Her stomach continued to churn, but the touch of her sister-wife was calming. Almost as good as Rhaegar's touch. "Thank you," she said warmly.

Elia smiled softly. "No need to thank me, sister."

Blushing slightly, Lyanna leaned in a bit more to Elia. Enjoying it. Mind drifting to what Targaryens did with their sisters…

Speaking of Targaryens… _"Muna! Muna!"_ Black curls bouncing, the bundle of giggles and joy slammed into the both of them. Cradling her cat in her arms. "I miss you. Pwease play with me and Bawlerion!"

Normally both women would adore playing with their little dragon princess, but Rhaenys' exuberance was threatening to restart Lyanna's stomach sickness all over again. "Oh, sweetling, we'd love to, but…"

"Oh, your Graces." Trotting up, Barristan bowed shallowly. "Forgive me, but the sweet child is a tough one to keep attention on."

_Just like Oberyn._ Elia couldn't count how many times he'd escape his maids buck naked and running around. _Not that he's changed much since then._ Seeing Lyanna fighting another void, Elia ruffled her daughter's hair. "We'd love to, but _muna_ isn't up to it."

The two violet eyes stared, glistening in absolute cuteness. "But Ser Bawistan bowing…" She lightly stroked the cat's fur, Balerion purring.

Shrugging, the Knight chuckled. "I don't want to risk hurting her. She plays rough." That did sound like Rhaenys…

"But I thought aunt Dacey and aunt Ellaria were playing with you?" That was their duty for the day, care for the Princess.

"They in aunt Dacey's chambers. Aunt Dacey gween… like _muna_." She pointed at Lyanna's green gills.

Both Princesses looked worried at each other. "Barristan, please take her…"

"No, I stay with _muna!_" she shrieked.

"Very well, but keep her behind us." If there was some kind of vapor going around… first Lyanna and now Dacey…

As Rhaenys had told them, both royals found Dacey quiet and looking completely haggard. Eyes sunken slightly, but also filled with unshed tears. Her own stomach sickness forgotten, Lyanna went to her friend. "What happened?"

Dacey sniffled, head hung down. "I woke up too tired to get out of bed, and I lost my stomach when I finally did…"

From where she was sitting, rubbing her back, Ellaria interjected. "What my friend is saying is that she's fallen ill because she's with child."

"Ellaria!" Dacey hissed, eyes blazing. The Princesses were stunned, Rhaenys confused in her childlike innocence, and Barristan looking like he wished to be anywhere else - he knew exactly who the father was. "I told you to keep it to yourself!"

"Well you know I don't do well with oaths," she replied, standing firm. "Besides, they deserve to know. What? Think you can hide this from them till the future Sword of the Morning pops his head out of your womb and shouts 'Where's my fucking blade?'"

"Ellaria!" This time it came from three throats.

Recovering from the shock, Elia looked at the northerner. "How long did you know?"

She closes her eyes. "Just today, when I went to the Maester. I'm a moonturn along. My moon blood was supposed to come last week, but I figured it was nothing…" She buries her face in her hands, sobbing lightly.

Lyanna hugged her. "Is it… Arthur's." Barristan winced behind them.

Saved nodded. "Gods… how do I tell him? We never thought…"

"That's what happens when you don't drink moontea," Ellaria blurted out, only to get a glare from Lyanna. "What?"

Ignoring her, Dacey continued to cry. "His vows… a bastard… what if he doesn't want a child… what if he rejects me?" The thought was killing her. "I think I love him…"

"He'll be shocked, my Lady," Barristan stated. "But he'll not reject the child, I promise." That seemed to calm Dacey down enough for Lyanna to comfort her.

But Elia's mind was whirring, "Lya, when was your last moonblood?"

"Three… three weeks before the wedding. It was the first time Aerys…" Wait, had dealing with her goodfather made her forget…? "What does that have to do with anything?"

Glancing at Ellaria, her Lady in Waiting knew what to do. Darting forward, she grabbed Lyanna's breasts. "Hey!" She pushed away not before Ellaria gave a painful squeeze.

"Mother Rhoyne, I admire his Grace's taste," she quipped. "Aye, Elia. They feel swollen."

While Dacey was wide-eyed in understanding, Lyanna just glared. "Yes, because you squeezed it."

"No, sister." Elia sat next to Lyanna. "I had my suspicions, but I'm sure now." A smile spread across her face. "You're with child. Our husband's child."

Gasping, Lyanna looked around the chambers. Finding faces filled with joy for her - even Dacey put aside her problems to hug her this time. "Congratulations, your Grace." Barristan beamed.

"But I… early… just married…" Holding her abdomen, another gasp tumbled out. There was something there - be it instinct or magic… Lyanna felt a life growing there. _A dragonwolf… mine and Rhaegar's._

"Yay,_ muna!"_ Rhaenys was hugging her instantly. "I wanna brudder. Pwease, pwease a brudder. Pwetty pwease!"

_Jon… Jon or Visenya._ _You'll be here in eight moons._ Looking from Rhaenys to Ellaria to Dacey to Barristan and finally to Elia, just as it sunk in a brilliant smile formed. Lost in tears of joy. _My babe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many pregnancies! :D
> 
> Cersei's not gonna give in so easy. She is in love and isn't gonna let her father marry her to that oaf without a fight.
> 
> Arthur and Dacey really went from zero to ninety didn't they?
> 
> So Ned has Howland, Jorah, and Roose Bolton on his war council. One of those doesn't fit with the others.
> 
> Dragonwolf's a comin!
> 
> Next chapter, Cersei really pisses off her father and Melisandre has a vision.


	31. Futures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all. Hope things are going well and everyone is staying safe.
> 
> Some troll attacked the story snd said i don't know how GOT works, namely on the issue of the court scene in the North, Ellaria being Elia's Lady in Waiting, and the diologue:
> 
> Nee is not s Lord, he thinks of his father as the Lord. Thats the key here, not the titles. Second, Catelyn has guards in the North because she is not a Stark yet. She is still a Tully. Third, as we all know Ned is the personality to try and avoid conflict.
> 
> About Ellaria, yes, she's a bastard. This is less of an issue in Dorne, especially considered in canon. Elia chose her because they are friends. She may be a bit over the top sometimes but it's close to her canon personality and her being there is not out of the ordinary.
> 
> As for the words... mea culpa. I'm doing this in my free time and while I try to be period accurate I never did borrow the Delorean so i could go to 14th Century Europe to study the language. If this is your complaint, it's a weak ass one.
> 
> Tags for the story have been adjusted to confirm various character changes planned for the future (far future in some cases).
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

"So the Greyjoys?"

Jon Connington nodded. "Raiding the west coast of the North… Deepwood Motte, Bear Island, Stony Shore, it'll weaken the northerners while giving them the excuse to move troops to Moat Cailin."_ Fucking hells, working with the Starks._ "No reply to any of our feelers to Bolton."

"That's unfortunate." Master-at-Arms Ser Willam Darry - cousin to Lord Darry of the Riverlands and brother to Ser Jonothor of the Kingsguard - shrugged his shoulders. "North is united. Riverlands not so much, but most will follow Hoster Tully into the Seven Hells… maybe not Mooton and Bracken."

"Not the best hope, but it'll do." Pulling out a stack of dispatches, he handed two to Darry. "Transcribed communications intercepted from between here and Highgarden and here and Winterfell."

Darry pursed his lips, nodding. "I'd like to see what Rickard Stark says. Tyrell is a dullard that simply wants his daughter to be Queen or close to it."

That was the obvious truth - luckily for Connington's ends male succession kept the more capable Mina or Janna Tyrell away. _I'll pawn Aegon off to his daughter once these things are settled. Rhaegar won't be in a position to say no, what with his brides out of the picture._

Under no circumstances was Connington planning to betray Rhaegar - at least that was what he told himself. _I love him… probably the only one who truly does aside from his mother._ But Rhaella was weak and he was strong, hence Connington placing it on himself to secure Rhaegar's best interests. A strong and united realm with his silver prince as the undisputed monarch. No powerful enemies, Queens uncontrolling, and a proper lover in his bed. One that only cared for the King.

Naturally, in both his plans and his late-night fantasies, Connington envisioned himself in that role. But to achieve that, he would need true allies not tainted by wolves or vipers. _Velaryon, Staunton, Chelsted, Symun 'Silveraxe' Fell, the brothers Darry…_ Getting Jaime Lannister would have been best, but his head was figuratively up Queen Rhaella's cunt. Useless to approach him.

His thoughts went back to the dispatches. "Olenna wants Mace to put aside his hatred of the Dornish and betroth Margaery to Aegon, and that Mace's observations that the King would rather have Viserys on the throne is wishful thinking."

"Finally a smart thought from the fool. And the Starks?"

Connington chuckled. "Rickard wants Ned to work harder in convincing Catelyn Tully to adapt to the North. Apparently she's treating Winterfell as she would a keep in the Honeywine Valley."

Darry stifled a laugh. "This could be easier than I thought."

An hour later, the Hand was pressing his seal on various royal documents when there was a knock at the door. It revealed Varys. "Good morning, Lord Hand. I bear news from our Warden of the West."

He stiffened. "What do your little birds sing now?"

"The songs they sing are of Tywin offering the prize of a maiden daughter to a rather reluctant Robert Baratheon, the latter still pining after our dear Princess."

Groaning, Connington resisted the urge to bang his head against the table. "Gods, this is a disaster." _The old lion could march on the capitol on his own accord with the Baratheon forces._ They'd be none the wiser till whatever thug Tywin had in his employ lopped their heads off.

"I wouldn't worry just yet, Lord Hand." Even when offered a seat, Varys refused. "The little robins also chirp of a battle of wills within Casterly Rock. That Lady Cersei wishes not Lord Robert, but rather Lord Eddard."

This bit of news caused Connington's eyes to open as wide as an owl. Cersei looked down on Tyrells, let alone the boorish Northerners. "And how does this affect anything?" Tywin could simply smack the girl around and force the marriage. It's what he would have done.

"Perhaps nothing. Perhaps it buys you time to make your own arrangement." Heading to the door, the Master of Whisperers gave Connington one last look. "I wouldn't doubt Robert taking the Princess if you… found it in the Realm's best interest for House Stark to resume its isolation."

Alone once more, Connington fell back in his chair. Staring at the ceiling and feeling as if he had gone five sparring sets with Arthur Dayne. _Tywin allying with Robert… Cersei loving Ned…_ All pointing to a situation in flux - and ripe for exploitation if he was quick about it.

His head throbbed as he thought. The fact remained that the Baratheons were not reliable… at least Robert wasn't. Stannis was competent if a cold fish, while Renly was too young. They weren't likely allies of either side… unless…

Connington sat up, eyes twinkling._ A drunken, mercurial brute that hates Rhaegar for stealing his betrothed?_ Uncontrollable. Reckless… a perfect person to use for actions that he himself would be best to stay an arm's length from, yet also being in need of a scapegoat after the fact._ Perfect._ He dipped his quill in ink and began scribbling. Hopefully Stannis would see it first and treat the matter with discretion. Who am I kidding? The odds that Robert would go near there bordered on nil… unless some whore demanded he fuck her in the Rookery.

Mind flashing with an explicit image of him and Rhaegar in such a position, he forced himself to keep writing. _In due time, Jon. In due time._

* * *

Chewing her lip ever so slightly, Lyanna allowed her excitement to temper the slight fatigue she was feeling. _A babe. Mine and Rhaegar's._ It was a dream… the most wondrous dream.

Sitting on the other side of the Dragonglass Throne, Lyanna watched her sister-wife. Elia was just as delighted at a new babe arriving in the family, airy smile in place for days as the reality seeped in - one that translated into the bedroom when she and their husband coupled…

Well, the airy smile that would have happened had she not been apprehensive of today's events. "Calm down, Elia." Lyanna had to bite her tongue to keep from giggling at the neurotic Dornish Princess.

"I'm calm," she countered, only to notice her leg bouncing. Lyanna giggling at it. "Alright," Elia confessed, smiling softly. "I may be a little nervous."

"Why would you be?"

A sigh. "Well, I am meeting your final to our children."

Lyanna quirked an eyebrow. "And why would that make you nervous?" As Elia but her lip, she understood. "Oh I see." She laughed. "You're worries my brother won't like you."

"Isn't it a valid worry. Doran already hates you."

"He's never met me."

"Doesn't matter. You're a political threat and that's enough for him. What if Benjen's the same way?" Given how she was raised, it was her deepest insecurity. The personal and intimate being merely shadows and masks for the game of thrones.

Lyanna snorted. "Benjen is the last person who'd be like that. He has Ned's honor and Bran's zest for life." Elia nodded, but her leg still bounced.

Shaking her head with a smirk, Lyanna's attention was drawn aside as Rhaegar entered - dashing in a dark-red doublet and black trousers - with young Garlan Tyrell hurrying after. "My brides." As he kissed Elia deeply, Lyanna watched him with hungry eyes. Wishing she could strip him bare and devour him… was this the result of the babe, or just love? _Likely both._ "Lya." However, she'd simply have to settle with his passionate kiss, lingering with biting his lip sensually. "Later, my love," smirked Rhaegar.

Her eyes sparkled, seeing him sit upon the throne. "Is he here?"

Rhaegar nodded. "Aye, he's here. Arthur says his blade skills pass muster." Beaming in pride for her little brother, Lyanna leaned back. "Send them in," boomed the Crown Prince.

While Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan took position in front of the royals and Garlan behind, Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell escorted a young man. Eyes meeting, undoubtedly matching smiles found Benjen and Lyanna's faces, being so long. So much changing, Lyanna leaving as a sullen maiden and Benjen a directionless youth, now Lyanna a Princess and Benjen a Kingsguard-to-be. "You stand before Rhaegar of House Targaryen, rightful Crown Prince of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men," announced Ser Barristan.

Clearing his throat, Gerold stepped forward. "This is Be…"

Never one for convention, now that things were far more informal Lyanna swept it aside. "Brother!"

Benjen nearly toppled over when the Princess slammed into him, squeezing him in a tight embrace. "It's good to see you, Lya," he beamed, hugging her back.

While the royal court would have whispered scandal, Rhaegar and Elia only laughed at the situation, as did the Kingsguards. "Well wife, there's no doubt as to who he is."

"Agreed, husband," Elia replied. "Benjen," she said, her goodbrother looking away from the happy reunion. "We are glad to have you at Dragonstone." No man who greeted his sister so warmly could be inherently cold and sullen

He smiled sheepishly. "Tis fine, your Grace. It is I who should be thanking you for the honor of a lifetime."

"You deserve it, stupid," Lyanna laughed, kissing him on the cheek before resuming her seat.

Rhaegar looked at Benjen. "Now, shall we get the formalities over with?" At Gerold's nod - he was Lord Commander after all - Rhaegar stood. Garlan presented him with Blackfyre, which he drew seamlessly. Benjen's eyes widening at the sight of such a famous blade before falling to his knee. "Benjen Stark," he raised Blackfyre into the air. "Do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves? To protect all women and children? To obey your captains, your liege lord, and your king? To fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?"

The northern princess watched with a smile. It warmed her heart that Rhaegar used the more informal oath rather than the one professing piety to the Seven. _My perfect husband._ A quick glance to Elia found the other woman smiling as well. Both knowing what was the truth. Now she would always have a connection to her northern family, Benjen by her side. Lyanna knew that while others might be wretches and forget their oaths, Benjen wouldn't. Her sweet, kind if mischievous brother, a proper knight.

"I so swear, my Prince," Benjen finally said.

Gently, Rhaegar tapped the young man's shoulder. "In the name of Aerys of House Targaryen, Second of his Name, I proclaim you Ser Benjen of House Stark, sworn brother of the Kingsguard."

"Ser Benjen!" shouted the four Kingsguards.

"Ser Benjen!" whooped Lyanna, racing down to hug him again.

* * *

As she expected, Sandor entered her chambers without so much as a knock at the door. Only this time, there was no tray of bread, water, and porridge, the proper meal for a disobedient child. "Where's my supper, hound?" she scowled.

"I don't got your fuckin' supper," he growled back. Apparently, Cersei's nickname for him stuck and it did not improve his disposition towards her. "You've got a visitor."

Cersei furrowed her brows. Her father had essentially locked her in complete isolation and starvation rations - at least they were starvation rations given the stomach malady that continued to roil her - until she 'came to her senses' and agreed to go to Storm's End with a smile on her face. _As if… I will never marry that oaf._ Only Ned. That attitude quickly drew away her father like the pox, willing to wait her out.

As such, Cersei was quite surprised that someone would visit. "Who?"

Before Sandor could answer, he seemed to grimace. Coincidently just as a shrill voice warbled out. "Why are you still standing there, scar-faced dog!"

That voice was one any highborn in the Westerlands would recognize. "Aunt Genna?"

The voluptuous figure of Lady Genna Lannister stormed inside. Poofy golden curls bobbing up and down and buxom chest nearly bursting from her skin-tight red gown. "Did you not hear me?" As she spoke, the larger-than-life sister of Lord Tywin advanced upon the still seated Cersei and pulled her into a tight hug.

Sandor couldn't be told twice to leave. "I shall be outside if you need me… my Lady." The last sounded close to an epithet.

With the door shut, Genna's face shifted to one of concern. "My dear Cer Cer." Her arms tightened, pushing Cersei harder into her bosom. "Ger sent for me and Emmon, and I'm sorry for taking so long to get here. Lady Crakehall just had to yak yak yak about gods only know what."

"Aunt Genna…" Cersei croaked… "You're crushing me…" A gurgling cough. "Can't breathe…" As if the older Lannister finally heard her, the grip was released and Cersei collapsed onto the bed. Stomach churning as she scrambled for the chamber pot, releasing its meager contents. "Fuck… what is wrong with me?!"

A gentle hand caressed her back. Pulling her hair out of the way. "Oh, Cer Cer." What a sight the 'Light of the West' might have been. Skin pale, eyes bloodshot. Much of her cheeks and torso bruised from her father's assaults. Cersei looked as shitty as she felt. "What has you so ill?"

"Other than father using me as a training dummy?" Cersei snapped, only for her stomach to spasm. "Seven hells, just the stomach malady."

"We all have that…" Genna trailed off, regarding Cersei with a queer expression. "Tell me, was what your uncle told me true? That you begged your father to marry the second son of the Warden of the North? Eckard Stark or something?"

Cersei groaned. She really didn't want to talk about it, but Aunt Genna was like a second mother to her - the one who raised her, Jaime, and Tyrion after Joanna Lannister died. If anyone was owed an explanation or was safe to speak with, it was her. "Eddard Stark."

Genna nodded. "Did you couple with him?" At Cersei's blush, she patted her shoulder, urging the girl to sit next to her. "Don't be embarrassed my dear. It's not like I don't know what fucking is."

The young lioness blushed. "Aunt Genna…"

"No, tell me the truth."

She sighed. "Yes… I did." A warmth spread through Cersei, remembering just how wonderful it was. "Many times."

Clicking her tongue, Genna chuckled. "Never have seen a Stark, but I've seen Blackwoods. Blood of the First Men… dark and mysterious." Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, Genna pulled Cersei against her. "Did you stop to consider you may be with child?"

Gasping, Cersei stared wide eyed at her aunt… and then her stomach… and back to her aunt. "What? But I… no… um…" Biting her lip, she felt her belly. No swell of a babe, but ever so taut…

She had her answer.

* * *

Barely moments after the servant set the tray of drinks upon the table did the armored men grab the mugs. Froth dripping onto the tabletop as they held them high. "To Ser Benjen of House Stark, newest brother of the Kingsguard!" announced Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of the august institution. "May his deeds be glorious, life long, and his page in the white book extensive!"

The mugs clinked together. "HERE HERE!" Without delay, all five brothers threw their heads back. Hearty Northern ale disappearing down their gulping gullets as fast as each of them could swallow.

Benjen's crashed down before the others, only a ring of foam on the rim and in his mustache left of his helping. Looking at their ruddy faces and unfinished mugs, he chuckled. "Southerners…" Benjen shook his head. "So used to your fruity piss, can't handle a proper drink."

"Proper drink?" Oswell choked out incredulously. "That tasted like dishwashing swill."

"Like you know what that tastes like," Barristan drolled, taking another swig. "I've had ale before in the field, but nothing as strong as this."

Smirking, Benjen slapped his new brother in white on the back, nearly making Barristan spit out his helping. "That's cause none of you ever had a proper Northern ale. Only the mountain clans make something stronger, but I'm not sure any of you are strong enough."

Oswell scoffed. "I'll take that challenge." The knight banged his palm on the table.

"Will you shush. You're not a child," Barristan chided. "We all remember what happened when you drank that Tyroshi rum."

"I told you never to speak of that," Oswell hissed, eyes darkening.

It was Gerold's turn to laugh, nudging Benjen's side. "He took a giant swig of it only to puke. If It hadn't been for Ser Jaime then her Grace the Queen would have slipped right into all of it." A chorus of laughs were had at Ser Oswell's expense. "You're gonna get along just fine, Benjen. Duncan the Tall reborn, only far shorter."

The young pup nodded. _Duncan the Tall?_ Gods, it would take a lifetime to fill in the White Book enough to match the men at this table. "Good luck to me, I presume." Flagging down another mug, this time he merely sipped the brew. "Need I worry about the three others?"

"Jaime's fine," Oswell shrugged. "If a bit straightlaced and broody. Lewyn is the same, only without the brooding. Jonothor…"

"Jonothor has a stick up his ass," Arthur belched, frown on his face.

Blinking, Benjen couldn't place this with what he had heard of the great Arthur Dayne. "He always like this?"

Glancing at Arthur, Oswell only smirked. "No, not always. I believe he has a lover's spat."

"Kingsguards cannot take lovers. It's forbidden."

It took a moment before Gerold and Oswell both burst out in laughter. "Ah, to be young and idealistic," the Lord Commander chortled. "Arthur here has been sharing the bed of her Grace's lady in waiting."

A snort. "Ellaria Sand? Bran warned me about her in his letters."

"Not her, your sister's lady."

Benjen nearly spat out his drink. "Dacey Mormont is your lover?"

"She was at least." A despondent Arthur was… rather depressing to watch. "I have no idea what happened? We made love that morning, and then nothing but avoided contact or whispered excuses."

"Probably she has unwelcome news from home… or she's ill," Barristan mused. "Either way, if she truly cares for you, this will last but a fleeting time."

"I'd hope so. Dacey Mormont, mate." Benjen shook his head with a smirk. "She's gorgeous."

"You should see his sister," grinned Oswell. "Prettiest of anyone not of Targaryen blood or married to a Targaryen… not that you'd have a shot with her or anything. Very very picky… argh…"

Arthur glared at Oswell after punching his exposed shoulder. "Don't talk about my sister."

"There's the Arthur we sometimes love," Gerold boasted, hoisting his mug up again. "To the White Cloaks."

This was something all could get behind. "The White Cloaks!"

* * *

"You're smiling, Elia." It was less of a question and more an observation - her smiles had been so rare that Rhaegar grew to cherish each one.

The Dornish Princess shrugged. "I can officially say that I am fond of each and every member of House Stark"

_What if they are not fond of you…?_ Elia shook away an odd voice in her head.

Rhaegar arched an eyebrow. "Need I be jealous?"

She looked at him incredulously. "Firstly, the man who is going to sleep in a bed with his other wife doesn't have leave to be jealous." Elia smirked at Rhaegar's blush. "And besides, I am not Ellaria and Benjen is not Oberyn."

"I would hope not. One Oberyn is enough for the world."

"You are speaking of my brother, Rhaegar… but I agree with you." Elia never remembered being so content, simply bantering with her husband. Hopefully it would only get better. "Benjen reminds me more of a younger Ser Arthur."

His brows furrowed. "Ser Arthur isn't old… hells, he's only one nameday older than I."

"Exactly," she grinned. "Practically aged and infirm." Elia bumped him with her hip and giggled… only to be pinned on the wall of her door. Rhaegar growling as he kissed her. Amusement melting into desire as she kissed him back - moaning when his hands groped her pert breasts under her dress. Lidded eyes staring back at him, she sighed. "I would never stray." Grabbing his hand, she placed it over her chest. "My heart is yours."

Rhaegar smiled, kissing her sweetly. "Mine is yours and Lya's."

Wishing to pull him in and ravish him, Elia knew of their arrangement. "Good night, husband. I will see you in the morning." Another kiss, then he stepped away. Elia resisting every urge to follow him… even if she would see Lyanna as well.

Perhaps that was an incentive, not a detriment...

Lights all out in the chambers, the Prince expected his bride to be waiting for him. Completely nude, perhaps… He grinned. His direwolf was insatiable. Climbing on the bed, he reached for the far side...

Only to find the bed empty. Sheets cold. "Lya?"

Suddenly the room filled with a gentle light. "Right here."

_Seven fucking hells…_ There was Lyanna, dressed in his house colors. Hair pulled up in a simple bun with ringlets falling across her creamy neck and shoulders, the black leather cuirass fit her tight body perfectly - no tunic, the hard leather pushing up the tops of her buxom breasts. Topping it off was a red skirt with black frills… A sort of fetishized version of Visenya Targaryen. _Fuck me…_

Lyanna's embarrassment at dressing like this all evaporated at Rhaegar's look. Part stunned silence, part utter lust that darkened his eyes. Her confidence surged. "Does my warrior prince enjoy his bride tonight?"

He could only nod dumbly. "What… what is this, Lya?"

Butterflies in her stomach, Lyanna fought the blush that threatened to creep up on her cheeks. Resolved to inform him of the wonderful miracle they created after arriving at the capitol, so it could be announced formally to the Small Council, the princess still felt they should celebrate. "I would think it obvious, my Prince."

Mouth dry, Rhaegar's hungry gaze worked her top to bottom. "You look stunning."

Lyanna was enjoying this… simply a dozen nighttime fantasies rolled into one. Bare feet cold upon the grey stone floor, hands on her hips as she towered over her husband. "Now, are you going to try and tame your powerful Queen, my King?"

Irises darkening in hunger, Rhaegar grabbed Lyanna by her trim waist and pulled her onto the bed. Growling like a dragon as he mounted her… only for the she-wolf to catch him off guard. Wrapping her legs around his hips and flipping him over. Hands splayed on his bare chest. "Oh, so my Queen is going to tame her dragon."

"Mmmm, my dragon." A roll of her hips confessed a lack of smallclothes. _"My dragon… mine…"_ Only with Elia would she share Rhaegar - his intelligence, his strength, his beautiful face… Lyanna caressed his hair, the shimmering silver locks. Her hands drifted along the chiseled chest and stomach, reaching his loose trousers which she frantically yanked down. _That thick, powerful cock… all mine._

Just as her wet folds enveloped him with a tight perfection, he reached up. Yanking her bare mounds from their leather prison. Large and perky, the perfect size for his hands as they kneaded them. Thumbing her nipples.

The jolt of his touch made Lyanna yelp… moaning at the delicious stretch of her walls around his cock. Gods, this was the only cock she had but instinctively knew there was no better. None that would compare to the pleasure Rhaegar's gave her. "Yes, love… grope me. Ravish your Queen." A burning pressure building inside her, Lyanna couldn't wait. Quivering lips unable to hold back her screams of pleasure once riding him. Bucking atop him as if she were on Winter.

This woman… she did things to him. Entranced the Crown Prince of Westeros to the point where Rhaegar almost forgot his own name. Growing harder inside her, hips joining hers to hit up just as she pushed down. Shut eyes fluttering open to watch hers. The wolfish grey staring down with complete lust.

Lya's heart was beating out of her chest throat hoarse from her screams. "Get it off…" It came as a trembling whimper, Rhaegar slamming hard into her cunt. Her hands gestured to the cuirass, struggling with the laces. "Off…" Rhaegar leaned forward, attacking her nipples as he helped her. Cuirass peeling off, the Prince using the distraction to flip her around.

Rhaegar slammed into her hard, turning his bride to jelly. "You're my wolf, Lya."

Her mouth gaped in a silent scream. "Yours…"

"No other man touches you!" he growled.

"No other! I'm Yours!"

In the adjacent chambers, separated by walls not as thick as once thought, the moans and grunts and harried screams of pleasure - hushed as they were - drowned out the tiny mewls from Princess Elia Targaryen. Snuggled under the thick covers, her nightgown was yanked up to her waist. Eyes closed as her fingers stabbed through her cunt, pleasuring herself to the sounds of lovemaking in the royal chambers.

_"So close, Lya… so close…"_

_"Yes, Rhaegar… fuck… yes, yes…"_

The words dissolved into formless babble, the Northern beauty clearly shattering as the Prince erupted into her. Joined by Elia, her climax ripping through her just as Lyanna's did. _Lya… Rhaegar… fuck..._

* * *

Tywin Lannister erupting in rage was not unknown to Cersei. Scream, shout, toss things about the room… even assault her on occasion… but she had never once seen him so enraged as to be completely speechless. The mighty Lord of Casterly Rock, seated upon the chair of the keep's audience room with a vein throbbing on the side of his head and a dark, sunken glare in his green eyes.

Throat dry, Cersei gulped. "Father… I…"

"Explain this to me one last time, daughter." Tywin's voice was low. Dangerous. "Are you telling me that you are with child?"

Turning her head under the withering glare of her intimidating father, both the gazes of her Aunt Genna and Uncle Gerion were supportive - Uncle Emmon Frey looked like he was about to piss himself. "Yes, father. I am with child. The Maester has estimated about a moon and a half."

"You'd better tell me that the child is Robert Baratheon's."

It was Genna that answered. "I think you know the answer, brother." It was clear - the likelihood Cersei would sleep with that oaf was nil.

Tywin openly gnashed his teeth. "Then who was it?"

Looking back at her aunt, the shapely woman gently nudged her lower back. "It's alright, child. Go ahead."

Head held high, the Light of the West was not ashamed of what she would say. "The father of my child is Eddard Stark." _I will never regret coupling with him._ "He is the only man I laid with." Her father had noticed Jaime's pining after Queen Rhaella, certainty in the offing that even had Cersei desired it there wouldn't have been a resumption of their youthful indiscretion.

Suddenly Tywin erupted from his seat. Face red and finding his voice once more. "And not once did you think that spreading your legs for some horny shit was a good idea?! Have you learned nothing from fucking your brother?!"

Cersei stood firm. Fighting her tears. "I regret many things, father. I do not regret taking Ned into my bed." He stared at her incredulously. "I love him."

His fists clenched, advancing upon Cersei. "You little whore…"

_Slap._

Only this time it was Tywin that brought his hand upon an imprint on his cheek. The room quiet with a stunned silence. "Don't speak to your daughter that way, brother," Genna seethed. "She made her mistakes, but the only one of us being an atrocious slug at this point is you!"

Rubbing his cheek, Tywin met his sister's gaze. The two had always held a soft spot for each other. If one person could give him a thumping, verbal or otherwise, it was Genna.

Eyes darting from Genna, to Cersei, to Gerion, and then to the openly trembling Emmon Frey, Tywin made his decision. "Everyone out except Genna."

Grabbing Cersei by the shoulder, Gerion guided his niece out with a smirk on his face. But Emmon hesitated. "Um… I should stay… with my wife…"

"Did you not hear my brother?" Genna hissed at him.

"But my love."

"Out!" Her scream found him scurrying away. Scoffing, Gemma turned to see Tywin holding back a grin in spite of himself. "What?"

"After father forced you to marry that worm, the only salve to that wound was seeing you turn him into your bitch."

"Hmph, he's the father of your four nephews." She grinned back. "I am a lion, after all."

The moment was short. Tywin sighed deeply. "That girl is the stupidest Lannister." All his plans with Robert ruined. I_f anyone finds out I killed Eddard Stark's child…_ He could kiss his position goodbye.

Genna's scowl returned, a match for her brother's in every way. "That girl is the smartest Lannister, idiot." Her hands were on her hips, challenging him to disagree. When he didn't, she continued. "With her child, you have the North in your pocket."

Tywin didn't respond, simply leaning with his hand on the back of the lord's throne. Back to Genna.

"Do you think that Ned Stark wouldn't marry Cersei the moment he hears she's with child? He's going to be to Rhaegar what you were to Aerys in the beginning, guaranteed." Nothing. "Fine, be an ass!"

Hearing Genna slam the door shut, Tywin exhaled. Forehead against the back of the chair with his eyes closed. _I am sailing through uncharted waters._ Cersei pregnant, Genna standing firm against him, Gerion determined to sail to Valyria… for the first time in his life, Tywin Lannister knew not anything he could do.

* * *

Silently cursing, the lone woman sprinkled droplets of blessed oil upon the flame-shrouded eggs - stoking the flames till they enveloped the unburnt objects in their entirety. _Please, Lord… show me your will._

Guarding the eggs at the King's order was the flummoxed Alliser Thorne, standing off in the corner. Half-disgusted, half-fearful. _Blood magic, may the Seven take her._

Melisandre ignored him. She smiled as she felt the welcome heat of the crackling red flames. No wildfire for her. The substance was evil, unnatural. Valyrian chants tumbled from her lips, seductively dancing around the braziers as she beckoned R'hillor to deliver a vision.

_"Lord, my Lord!"_ Melisandre threw her torso back, bending flexibly. _"Bestow upon me the secrets of the dragons!"_ The voice shouted to the rafters in a melodic harmony. _"Show me their champion!"_

Suddenly the flames halted in place. Thorne almost fell back, tripping over his own armor. But for the Red Witch, she saw it. A picture formed in the fire surrounding the first egg. Black and red, the largest of the clutch.

_"Show me, oh Lord of Light. Tell me your secrets…"_ Slowly she leaned in, eyes sparkling red-orange as they gazed into the fire.

What she saw did surprise her.

A battle. A massive clash of armies, banners waving wildly as steel slammed against metal and flesh. One wave charged forward, mingling with the other in a bloody melee.

Fields upon fields of corpses, a dull light glowing in the background. Overlooking a world on the verge of death.

Shadows dancing about the Iron Throne, one dark and two a glowing red and gold - each twisting in a frightening dance to overcome the other.

A frozen clearing, filled with trees. An immense spiritual energy emanating from the center, where a single figure stood. Hair as black as night, and yet eyes a glowing violet. Standing, smiling, watching as two maidens stepped on either side of him. One ice kissed by fire, one fire touched by moonlight. Standing together as their faces morphed into dragon heads. Roaring.

Suddenly, the flames exploded. Heat welling from the bottom and shooting out. Forcing Melisandre back, stumbling and falling to the floor - as if the Lord did not wish for her to see the remaining image… Only a word. A single whispered word…

_'Rhaegar… Rhaegar…'_

"Rhaegar…"

"My Lady." Thorne was still a knight, and the woman was under his protection. He gently pulled her up. "Are you alright."

Clearing her throat, Melisandre nodded. "Aye, Ser Alliser. I shall just need a ship." It was time she truly meet the Crown Prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Melisandre's vision... plenty of foreshadowing for so many things. Discussion is open with reviews and comments, but keep it civil and with an open mind. I don't intend to disappoint anyone reading this story.
> 
> And so Benjen is now Ser Benjen Stark, Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard. Pretty good for him, no?
> 
> Elia is thirsty, but who wouldn't be in her position? I had fun thinking up Lyanna's outfit :D
> 
> We've now met every member of the Lannister clan. As well as gotten confirmation that Cersei is indeed pregnant with Ned's child. Didn't see that one coming when you started the story XD
> 
> Next time, Melisandre arrives in Dragonstone eager to be part of Rhaegar's retinue.


	32. Among Salt and Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all. Today is the anniversary of "The Bells." Aka, the utter bullshit that confirmed the destruction of Game of Thrones. A complete ant total piece of shit that wiped out everything involving character development and plot arcs. Fuck Dumb and Dumber and fuck season 8.
> 
> House Targaryen and the true House Stark, this chapter's for you!
> 
> Thanks to Nielsen1984 for her assistance with the chapter.
> 
> On the issue of Melisandre's vision in the last chapter, seems the comments have settled on the following guesses for Jon's second bride with Dany: Sansa, Ygritte, a daughter of Ned and Cersei, or one of Jon's younger full sisters. I can confirm that she will be one of those. Feel free to discuss civilly in the comments section.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

There was time to wipe the sheen of sweat from her forehead… only just. Lyanna barely missed Benjen's lunge.

"Fuck," mumbled the newest kingsguard. In spite of the Targaryen sigil that swelled his chest with pride, Benjen was still trying to compensate for its added weight - negating the agile moves he learned wearing the boiled leather and chainmail of the North. His muscles were woefully inadequate to endure the steel plate.

Diving back on her heels, Lyanna worried about no such matters clad in mere riding breeches. Twirling her blade in her wrists, the blunt steel crashed against Benjen's. Batting it aside and allowing her to jerk upwards… tip right below his chin. "Yield," she huffed, chest rising up and down.

Dropping his own blade, Benjen ripped off his helm. "Gods, I can't see a fucking thing in this piece of shit."

"Don't… blame the helm, Ben." Grabbing a flagon of water, it felt heavenly on her parched throat. _Please, little dragon, don't tire me out._ "That makes… one hundred fifty-three spars where I disarmed you."

"I'll get to your level one day, Lya."

"Not sure, Ser Benjen," said Barristan, watching in the corner with his arms crossed. "The Princess is getting to a skillset that many knights haven't reached. Had she came to me with silver locks, I'd have sworn Visenya had been reborn."

Momentarily cupping her still flat stomach, thinking of her Visenya, Lyanna gave the kingsguard a smile. "Flattery will get you many places, Ser Barristan." Sweat dripping down her forehead and muscles aching, she picked up her blade and walked to the center of the courtyard. "Now, your turn."

The knight's smile faded. "But, your Grace… You seem close to collapse."

Lyanna glared. With Benjen still in training and Ser Arthur practically turning into her husband with his brooding, Barristan remained in his position. "Do not refuse the demand of your future Queen. Assume your position." With a sigh, Barristan complied - grabbing a sparring sword, he waited patiently for Lyanna to make her first move.

Swords clashing in a flurry of metallic clangs that filled the courtyard, Lyanna struggled to maintain her fighting edge. Parry, counter, two quick parries… she knew that her miracle would have her out of commission once her stomach swelled. Best polish her skills with a blade while she still could.

Ser Barristan was the perfect teacher, patience and skill drawn from decades of actual combat experience. Feinting to the left with a slash, Barristan attempted to punch at her arm… only for the Princess to weave out of the way. 'Very good, your Grace.'' Lyanna had definitely improved from the beginning, and she was no slouch then. Contests between her and the Kingsguards were growing in length, but she had yet to win. It drove her mad, but never disrespectful. Barristan admired that.

Lyanna darted forward, slashing at Barristan's side. The Bold half-twisted, sword angling downward to catch the attack, breaking off after. The Princess charged impatiently. Swinging hard at her foe.

Barristan saw the thrust coming. An upward sash followed and Lyanna ducked to the left, leaving her side open. But while the knight aggressively attacked in their past spars, he hesitated this time, providing an opening for Lyanna to thrust past Barristan's blade and into his chest. An instant kill.

Breaking apart, Lyanna was quickly handed a flagon of water by Benjen. "You," she gasped as soon as half the flagon disappeared down her throat. "You let me win, Ser Barristan."

"I don't know what you mean, your Grace."

"Bullshit. You hesitated to exploit my impatience."

He hung his head, guilty. "I couldn't be rough with you… not with your… condition."

Benjen's brows furrowed. "What condition? Lya…" His eyes knitted in worry. Lyanna sighed. Knowing she would have to tell him...

Blackfyre strapped to his belt, Rhaegar hoped to run into Ser Barristan at the training yard - practice with a real weapon for once. Spring in his step and itching to further show off his youthful prowess. "You know, I always thought it would be Bran that made me an uncle first." Rhaegar halted in place.

"Gods, don't remind me." Lya's northern lilt was music to his ears. "I think father would still think me too young for this. I'm still his she-pup in his eyes."

"You can't be sure you're the first, sister. Bran might have a bastard out there…"

"O hope not." Rhaegar could almost hear his wife's eye roll at that. "Little Jon or Visenya is trueborn through and through."

It was as if his world stopped. Little Jon or Visenya? _Is Lya…?_

"I understand Visenya, but Jon?" Benjen asked as Rhaegar tried to stay upright, knees beginning to buckle.

The next voice was Barristan's. "I think the Princess has her reasons, young Stark."

Beaming with delight, Lyanna threw her arms around her brother. "I'm so happy, Ben," she giggled. "Everything I could ever want has come true!" She couldn't wait to tell Rhaegar - her beautiful, strong dragon prince.

Little did she know that said dragon prince was walking back towards his chambers, smile slowly spreading over his face.

* * *

"Dacey." The she-bear had the speed of a fleeing jackrabbit, but Arthur's stamina was not one to scoff at. "Dacey! Gods, wait."

_Damn!_ How had she so miscalculated? Over a week spent avoiding Arthur, one week of Ellaria's chiding interference… until Dacey agreed to take up a task for Lyanna that would bring her by the Kingsguard quarters. _Arthur wasn't supposed to be there._ But he was, and there would have to be a confrontation.

Turning a corner, Arthur nearly broke out into a run. Heart aching as he tried to catch up to his lover. "Dacey!" Fortunately for him, the turn she made found them both in a dead end. "What has gotten into you? Please," he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Can we speak, my Lady?"

Sighing deeply, Dacey knew that her selfish hope to postpone this until she could wrap her way around what was coming… Lyanna's babe would be celebrated in the realm, a new Prince for the Seven Kingdoms to adore. Her babe… _a bastard born of a Kingsguard._ She didn't even know whether Arthur truly cared for her.

Each second passing interminable, finally the she-Bear turned around. His face falling when she didn't even look up at him. "My Lady, why are you avoiding me?" Arthur asked, dreading the answer. "Have I displeased you in some manner?"

Daring to look up, Dacey's resolve nearly failed at seeing the hurt on his handsome face. "No, Ser Arthur," she murmured. "You've not done anything…" A tear fell from her eye. "You've been perfect."

"Then what is the matter?" He cupped her cheek. "Please tell me. I've been worried for days."

"That wasn't my intention." Whirlwind that their affair was, Dacey realized here that slowly she had fallen hard for this man. _Forbidden fruit, bound by oaths to never wed._ "I've longed to simply fall into your embrace… but something has happened and I am unable to come to terms with it."

Thumb stroking her cheek, the Sword of the Morning longed to take away her anguish. "Let me take your fear away, my Lady."

_If only you could…_ "I'm with child," she blurted out, bluntly. "Yours."

It took a moment before Arthur processed the words. Confusion, then surprise, then disbelief, and finally a numb shock that washed over him. "It's mine," he breathed. There was no question in his voice.

Biting her lip, Dacey nodded. "I believe your seed quickened me on our first night." Had they been a young married couple deeply in love, such would have been quite romantic. That was her first inclination, buried underneath all the apprehension. "This was not anticipated by either of us."

"Yes." Eyes wide, Arthur collapsed against the wall. Mind whirring. _Forbidden to wed, to father children…_ Much as he would later come to regret, those were his first thoughts. _I've broken my oath…_ He had seen Ned Stark grapple with an obsession honor, but as one who rejected the banal perversion of the Kingsguard oath Arthur found himself as no better.

"Forbidden?" Snapping out of his reverie, Arthur saw Dacey glaring at him. Eyes furious. "Forbidden?! Well Ser Arthur, much as you value your oaths, you broke them. It happened!"

_Gods, did I think out loud?_ Arthur wanted to punch himself. "My Lady, you misunderstand…"

Her apprehension was gone, replaced by a hard glare. "No, I understand perfectly well. While you are content with breaking your oath for your pleasure, your child in my womb brings you nothing but dishonor." She shook her head, almost at the point of a desperate laugh. "I'm glad to have discovered your true feelings before it was too late."

Arthur's head spun, watching as Dacey moved to leave. "I won't leave my child unrecognized!" Already, he felt a surge of protectiveness for her, for the babe… "Please, Dacey." He reached out to grab her shoulder…

Only to pitch back as she slapped him. "Don't touch me nor come near me again. When all is done, I shall retire back to Bear Island with my babe. You won't have to live through your dishonor then."

Watching her storm away, Arthur sat upon the hard ground. Head in his hands. The mighty Sword of the Morning reduced to tears.

* * *

There was no chance heir to Winterfell could approach this calmly. "This is unacceptable!"

Rickard winced as his son hurled the dispatches on Jon Connington's desk. The four of them - young Tyrion Lannister among - were crowded into the Tower of the Hand. "I resent your attitude, Lord Brandon," Connington stated evenly.

"And I resent the fucking gall of the Ironborn!" Brandon shouted back. "Reavers assaulting the Stony Shore! Helman Tallhart estimating a hundred dead and dozens of salt wives taken!"

"Enough, Bran. We see your point," Rickard interjected. He fully agreed with the lad's anger, but there was a time for fury and a time for tact.

Forming a tent with his hands, Connington leaned back. "I would think that the North would be used to Ironborn raids." The fact they hadn't built some sort of naval force at Deepwood Motte or Flint's Finger was simply embarrassing. _These northerners don't deserve to have one of theirs as Queen._

Before Rickard could respond, Brandon cut in. "I demand that the Crown call its banners and its fleets!"

"Denied!" Connington shouted back. "If you would like, you can go to the North and fight them yourself."

"I just might…" Bran was silenced when his father held up a hand.

"The Ironborn are like a malignancy," Tyrion mused, idly playing with a lock of curly hair on his head. "If we don't lance them now and merely drain it, then they'll pop up twice as horribly next time."

Nodding, Rickard motioned to the door. "Tyrion, you and Bran send a raven to Winterfell. Tell Ned to have the Glovers, Flints, and Mormonts fortify their keeps while we sort this out." Tyrion shrugged and hauled himself off his chair. Brandon wanted to say something, but sensed that his father was in no mood. It was soon just Rickard and Connington. "This complicates matters."

A chuckle. "I don't see how."

"Every bannerman defending against the Ironborn is one that can't support the Prince."

Snorting, Connington leaned forward. "Well… if the Ironborn are actively assaulting your shores, it certainly gives the Warden of the North cause to call his banners early."

It took a moment to sink in. "That does apply, Lord Hand." Inwardly, Rickard was cursing for not seeing it. "I'll see that our banners are called." He stood, making his way out.

"Not yet." Connington's voice halted him. "Wait till the Ironborn attack something more valuable than crab fishing villages. It'll look less suspicious."

Almost nodding and leaving, something came to Rickard's mind. "And why would you assume that the Ironborn would provide the cause that you ask us to wait for?"

There was a tense silence. "As Lord Tyrion said," Connington stated, crossing his arms. "A malignancy. Those cunts just can't help themselves."

"Ah…" Rickard nodded, disbelieving glint in his eye. "I see. Better hope that no one finds any different motivation, though I'm sure no evidence exists there. Unlike your… sick perversion, far easier to hide such." A smirk crossed Rickard's lips at the glimpse of Connington's enraged sneer before he shut the door.

Such ended up being only a temporary high, and Rickard was found wandering the hallways of the Red Keep. Gods, the place felt like a dungeon to him - once the Mad King's hands found their way around Lyanna's throat did he realize the stakes of everything. The rules at play in the game of thrones. Even within Rhaegar's plot did the battlelines draw themselves.

Connington had something to do with the Ironborn, Rickard was sure of it. He didn't yet completely trust Tyrion, and Brandon was in no shape to give him assistance. Rhaella might, but it wasn't Rickard's right to broach the subject. With Jon Arryn still in the Vale, there was only one person Rickard could talk to.

Knocking on the man's door, he still felt it was a mistake even as it opened. "Ah, Lord Rickard. Come on in."

Watching Lord Varys scurry over to a massive chest in the middle of the room, Rickard shut the door and leaned upon it. "I ask that we speak… in confidence."

The eunuch looked upon him. "Ah, confidence. But of course." He mimed sewing his mouth shut. "Lips sealed. Now what's on your mind?"

Many called the Starks simpletons in the art of politics, but Rickard was no fool. He knew that Varys wasn't one to be trifled with. "I came to talk about Connington."

"Well obviously," Varys shrugged. "It was either him or his Grace, and I doubt you'd trust me to voice your opinion of the latter."

"The Ironborn have attacked the North…"

"And you wonder if Connington arranged that because of our little plot. Now I do say that's rather smart of him."

Rickard tightened his lips. "And gets hundreds of my innocent countrymen killed."

A cross look, Varys opening one of the latches. "I doubt he cares about that."

"I want proof of his intentions, and you do have the spies."

"That I do, but no proof, only whispers." He flicked open another latch. "It's simple, Lord Stark. Connington just doesn't like you." Varys' ruddy eyes met Rickard's. "You're the father of the woman that took the heart of the man he loves."

The Lord of Winterfell narrowed. "Lord Varys, nothing in this damn city is that simple. My ancestor Cregan was wise in only staying here one damn day, and now I'm stuck trying to discern the intentions of the slimiest cunts I've ever met. I need answers."

Rising from the last latch, remained closed for now, Varys smiled softly as he approached a bowl of washing water by a small looking glass. "Answers come through influence. Providing something - no matter how banal - in exchange for something else." He sprinkled water atop his hands. "Influence… that is how I rose from the slums of Myr to the small council chambers."

Pulling back, Varys glanced at Rickard, the jovialness gone. Still soft in appearance, the Lord of Winterfell could see a hardness in the man. "You see, Lord Stark. You can get your answers. Cultivate enough influence and it'll come to you. Most will… be of matters that seemingly don't concern you but that you should ingratiate yourself in - build more influence. Others will serve your ends… while the smallest amount will be…" He flipped open the last latch. "Simply satisfying."

As the lid opened, Rickard approached. The smell of shit and piss hit him just as he peered over the ledge to see a man. Beaten to a pulp with his mouth sewn shut. "The sorcerer from the ceremony?" He had fought in enough battles to not be fazed by the stench.

"Yes… that sorcerer. The man that cut off my stick and stones, here he is." The sorcerer tried to scream as Varys closed the chest again, turning to Rickard. "Connington's plots will be exposed and you will have your victory over him, only if you and your family have the stones to defeat him at his own game." Varys patted him on the shoulder. "Good luck."

_Now I know why Starks don't fare well in the south._

* * *

In a way, Prince Oberyn Martell was glad to be back home in Sunspear. A pleasant warmth even during the dead of winter - especially since his preferred outfit was none at all - while nothing could compare to the beauty of the sparkling ocean waves against the sandy beaches. But sometimes… even the poison of court was leaps and bounds better than what he had to endure here. "Brother, please, listen to reason…"

"I know you value your… interpersonal skills, Oberyn," Prince Doran replied, seated in his chair and unwilling to rise. "But your desires have clouded your judgement."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Don't think I do not know about Lord Uller's bastard? I don't know how it happened, but her claws dug in deep to the point where she was your only lover."

"She has nothing to do with this!" Oberyn was angry, especially at the mention of Ellaria. Even among his friends here… she was a sore subject. "If our sister is fine with Princess Lyanna and I found nothing untoward about her, then why are you dragging your heels?"

His brother… there was something different about him that wasn't shared by their father, Oberyn, or even Elia - if Oberyn's hunch was right about her and Princess Lyanna. From family lore, the rather… libertine attitude of the Martells came from Nymeria, a woman more in tune with the ways of the flesh than even Aegon the Unworthy. Maron Martell, her husband, was actually a rather dour man, and Doran continued in that old tradition.

"You are naive in this instance." Doran tapped his finger on his lips. "If the Starks are too stupid to push then someone against us will in order to curry favor with them."

"Lyanna loves our niece and nephew."

Doran scoffed. "The moment that happens is the moment snow falls in the Water Gardens. Lyanna will seek to usurp Aegon's claim once she has one of her brats." He waved off a response. "Now leave me, I'm very busy trying to counter this mess."

_Well, my brother has no chance to join our effort._ If anything Doran would just see it as a Stark plot to eliminate what Martell influence remained in court. The best to hope for was a neutrality… and that was at best. Headache consuming him, Oberyn journeyed to the one place that could calm him down.

"Are you ready, my Prince?" came the masculine voice of one of his partners for the evening. Already, the two had stripped off their clothes. Naked as their namedays, the girl's jet black skin delightfully exotic even for the world-traveller that Oberyn was, while the muscular lad bore the familiar handsomeness of Oberyn's native soil. A delightful contrast, familiar and exotic - and both gorgeous. Mouthwateringly delectable…

Only for neither to measure up in his eyes. Both completely beautiful, but ones woefully lacking for some reason. The Prince felt his skilled organ only rise to half-mast..

The girl, her massive breasts bouncing invitingly, crawled upon the bed. "A problem?" Her voice was teasing, yet seductive.

"Umm…" Oberyn flushed red. "This… uh… this has never happened before."

Giggling, the girl leaned up. Breasts mashing against the mattress and trim legs lifting up. "Oh pish. That happens to be Daemon's specialty in fixing."

Rippling musculature almost the polar opposite of the girl, Daemon sauntered closer to Oberyn. Slowly sinking to his knees. "I am going to enjoy this." Oberyn gasped as the man began to bob up and down, slurping the length with his fingers expertly massaged his balls.

Watching the entire scene with riveted eyes, the ebony whore shimmied until her back was against the pillows. Intensifying Oberyn's pleasure as she played with her pink cunt. "My prince, I think your problem is clearing up."

Hands weaving through the man's thick locks, the second son found his cock swelling to full attention. "Yessss…" Oberyn groaned.

Two fingers pushed inside of her. "Mmmmm… Would you rather enjoy the warmth and wetness of my cunt or the fullness of his thick cock?" Her eyes darkened at the sight of the two nude men standing in front of her. "Or we can make things easier by having you enjoy both."

Oberyn suddenly pushed the man aside, earning a whimper. "Please, let me have you first," he begged. "I think you need the relief."

"Good things come to those who wait," Oberyn replied, grinning at his cock also having risen. "Help me with her," he growled, the man's eyes widening with understanding. Wordlessly, Oberyn grabbed the ebony whore by the legs and flipped her around. She yelped when he flipped her onto her stomach, yanking her on her knees so that the man could slide under her. "I'm going to fuck your ass," he growled. "The whore can have your cunt."

"Oh gods... Please me, my Prince." She hissed, sliding onto the man's length. "I need your cock in my ass!"

Oberyn slicked himself up with oil and roughly pushed into her ass, causing her to scream in pleasure. "Take it, whore." Beginning to rock into her, an image flashed behind his closed eyelids. Of a similar scene in the Red Keep. Of the most beautiful woman in the world - sultry and tan. The tightest holes and the most alluring lips…

The Prince could only find his pleasure with her face in his mind and her name on his lips. _"Ellaria…"_

* * *

_A babe… my babe…_ A smile formed on Rhaegar's face, one that hadn't left him since overhearing Lyanna in the training yard. _My wife is having my babe…_ He'd been through this twice before but the third time wasn't any less special. In fact, all three of them finally happy in the relationship made it all the better.

"Jon." The name sounded so strange on his lips… _Lyanna picked that name… picked it because she loves me dearly._ It was the most precious treasure as a result. "Jon Targaryen." He would grow to love it, Rhaegar knew. "Visenya Targaryen. Princess Visenya. Rhaenys, Aegon, Visenya." _Egg always related to the middle._ Rhaegar chuckled at the thought. _My darling little Visenya._ He could just imagine her with silver hair and Lya's grey eyes, a striking Valyrian beauty with the northern stubbornness.

Their child would be a girl, he just knew it. "Gods… thank you." Rhaegar's happiness was complete, regardless of the chaos in the world. He simply wanted to grab Lyanna and twirl her around in complete and utter joy.

"Your Grace." Ser Oswell was staring at him. "There's a visitor from the capitol. She says her name is Melisandre… a priestess from…"

"The Red Temple in Volantis, yes." _The woman from my wedding?_ There was nothing untoward about her, considering how red priests usually acted, but what she had said… It was against his better judgement, but Rhaegar shrugged. "Let her in."

Almost immediately the red woman snaked past the still cautious Kingsguard - Oswell frowning when Rhaegar motioned for him to leave, yet obeying regardless. Still dressed in all red, aside from the same glittering choker round her neck the outfit had looser fabric, hair allowed to flow down in wild tongues of flame. Free and dangerous as the fire she worshipped. "Your Grace," she curtseyed. "I thank you for receiving me."

Rhaegar's eyebrow rose. "It is an… honor to receive the delegation of the Red Temple." There was little much that he could have done. While the Red Priests were known for rituals of blood sacrifice, they hadn't done anything in Westeros proper. He had no reason to bar entry, especially considering her importance to his father.

"This keep… a remnant of Old Valyria, condemned to ruin but one that emerged from near death to roar to establish the greatest dynasty in history." She ran her hands along the dark walls. "Yes, something so shrouded in darkness is really the greatest life."

The Prince had no clue where she was going with this. Riddles and mystery… the cloak in which prophecy clouded itself in. "I wouldn't say life…" Rhaegar said, deciding to probe her. "House Targaryen is on its last legs."

"That's the cycle, my Prince." Brazenly, yet soft and seductive in her movements, Melisandre wedged between Rhaegar and his desk - sitting upon it. "Death is in a struggle with life, only a generation from declaring victory over that which is good and vibrant." She smiled. "But life always counters, for with life comes light."

Melisandre seeming to loosen her dress… exposing the milky globes to his sight. "What are you doing?"

Her smile grew wider, reaching down to take his hand in hers. "The greatest light comes from fire. Dragons are fire made flesh." Before he could do anything, Melisandre pressed his palm to her chest. "The Lord of Light whispered your name to me. You, born among the salt and smoke of Summerhall… together I think we can do great things."

The feel of her soft skin, her warm flesh... such would cause most men to submit. But Rhaegar was a dragon - and his wives were far more beautiful than she was. "I think you should go, Lady Melisandre," he said darkly.

Just as he pulled away, the door opened. "Rhaegar, dear…" Smiling at the thought of surprising her husband alone, Elia saw that he wasn't indeed alone. "Oh… Priestess?" Seems she had a good memory of the wedding night herself. "I thought you were in King's Landing."

Sparing one final smoldering look at the Crown Prince, Melisandre turned. "Circumstances change, Princess. It appears what I was looking for cannot be found on the mainland."

Narrowing her eyes, Elia brushed past Melisandre until she was beside her husband. "And what is it that you seek, Lady Melisandre?" she asked, melding into Rhaegar's side. Resting a head on his shoulder sweetly… innocent eyes masking a possessiveness of what was hers. "My husband's counsel?"

"I seek answers, Princess. Answers to the great questions. Some involve his Grace, the Prince. Others…" A shrug as she looked back at the both of them. "Involve those that I still have no clues towards. Only that they lay here, in your household."

Elia's eyes narrowed slightly. "Well you are welcome to stay here if you like… only know your place." _Keep your rivals close._

"A lesson all of those in my position have to learn." Curtseying to both, she made her exit. "Until next time, my Prince. My Princess. Do try to know more than what one thinks."

At the shut of the door, Elia pulled Rhaegar's lips to hers in a savage kiss. Claiming him, marking her territory for all to see. "What was that?" she breathed, only to kiss him again.

Not minding this in the slightest, Rhaegar plundered his slender wife's mouth - pulling her tight body flush against him. "I don't rightly know myself."

Breaking the kiss, she started leaving little bites along his neck and pulse. "Did she make advances?"

Rhaegar couldn't lie. "Yes, but you needn't worry."

"I'll burn her alive if she tries anything," Elia hissed.

"You and Lyanna both… but I'm yours."

Shoving him to his desk, Elia regarded him with hungry eyes. "Oh, that is true." She advanced on him, straddling his hips while hiking her dress. "But I believe his Grace needs a fresh reminder of that." Her hands went directly for the ties of his breeches.

The feeling of a wet warmth made Rhaegar tilt his head. "You planned this."

"Whatever do you mean?" Elia's voice dripped with a deep Dornish accent. Sultry and sexy.

"No smallclothes." He suddenly moaned when Elia gripped his cock in her hands. While not fierce like Lyanna, his Dornish Princess was the perfect seductress.

Elia mewled, slowly sliding onto his cock. Eyes fluttering shut at his thickness stretching her walls. "I don't need a reason to claim my husband." Moving up and down, savoring the delicious feeling, she reached behind her neck. Untying her dress. "Do your duty, my Prince," Elia husked, grabbing his silver locks and pulling him to her now bare breasts. "Devour your Dornish lover…" She moaned when his tongue flicked at one nipple. Drawing it into his mouth as she continued to bounce on his length. "Oh yes…"

"You feel so good, Elia," Rhaegar growled, tongue moving its way up to her neck and sucking on a soft spot there. He hungered for her soft moans, only to gasp as she bit down on his shoulder - riding his cock with abandon. The feeling of her teeth on his skin spurred him to thrust faster. Harder

She dug her nails into his skin, feeling the pleasure run through her body. "My Prince," she gasped. "Fuck me harder. Fuck me like a whore..." The words out of her mouth shocked her, but it made him almost roar so Elia loved it. Gods, she loved it all.

Rhaegar didn't need to be told twice as he rammed up into her cunt, watching her scream. Making her shatter around him. He grunted, spilling rope after rope of seed up into her womb. Wishing he could quicken her as he did Lyanna.

Resting atop him, trembling in his tight embrace, minutes passed before Elia even tried to push off him. Legs shaking. "I've discovered the secret to female happiness," she breathed, shuddering as she felt his seed run down her legs - making her feel like a well-fucked whore. Elia happened to revel in it.

Fixing his trousers, Rhaegar smirked. "And what is that?"

"Marry a Valyrian. Find a way to make him lust for her body." Her smirk matched his. "Perhaps I should dress as Rhaenys Targareyn tonight," Elia said sultrily, smile lusty.

His eyes widened. "You heard that?"

Now she blushed. "Yeah…" Another thought pushed in her mind, all three of them playacting the conquering trio. It made her start to get wet again. "Anything I can help you with, husband?" Elia asked, wanting to save her stamina for the night.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Rhaegar nodded. "Aye, was just planning to review the efforts to persuade the Dornish Lords."

Elia clicked her tongue. "Not exactly something to improve our moods, but I can see why I can help there." He took his seat at his desk, her standing beside him - leaning against him with arms on his shoulders. The intimacy felt amazing even as they discussed the worst sort of politics. "First thing you'll need to do is write off the Salt Dornish at the coasts."

"Unless we convince Doran to back us," he figured.

"We'll have to try, but unfortunately he is a lost cause." Elia knew her family. Only in her most optimistic of moods did she expect Doran to not be hostile to Rhaegar now that Lyanna was in the picture. "I would use some effort for the Ullers and Quorgyles."

"Ellaria's home and Oberyn's friends. Sand Dornish."

She nodded. "They hate the rest of Westeros, but they love Ellaria and Oberyn. If you name them as persons either siding with you or in danger from persons in the Capitol - whomever they may be - you could get them." He did not respond, merely pulling her down for a kiss. Elia chuckled. "I prefer that to a thank you." She ended up sitting in his lap making herself comfortable in her new seat. "This fine?"

Rhaegar nodded. "Never leave." That earned another kiss.

Turning back to the papers, Elia furrowed her brows. "Now the Torrentine houses, they could be easier to sway when the time comes. House Martell has always lacked as strong a connection to them since the Dayne and Yronwood Kings were defeated by Nymeria."

"And you think you can sway them, love?"

"Yes. Ashara Dayne is my closest friend and the Yronwoods would do anything to fuck over my brother." She picked up the map showing Dorne, chuckling. "Imagine, the hatred between our Marcher Lords and the Reach and Stormlands would probably make them jump at the chance…" Elia trailed off, deep in thought.

Rhaegar furrowed his brows. "Think of something, love?" He followed her eyes to the Reach. "Unfortunately I fear Gerold and Garlan will be our only supporters there… unless I sell off Aegon to Mace Tyrell's daughter…"

She shook her head. "No, House Peake."

"House Peake? The rebel house that killed my great-grandfather?"

"They haven't had a peep for the longest time, but I bet they'll want their other two castles back." All knew about that, the three ancestral castles of House Peake, all but Starpike taken away after they supported Daemon Blackfyre. "Castles they'll do anything to get back… even follow someone other than their liege Lord's King…"

Rhaegar looked at her in wonder. "Elia, you are smarter than any archmaester and craftier than Tywin." He beamed and pulled her into a steaming kiss. "Fortune favored me greatly when you were made my bride."

Elia's sultry smile returned, melting at the praise. "I aim to please my Prince." Without warning, he lifted her up, carrying her out of the room. "Rhaegar…"

"Time for me to reward you," he husked, silencing her protests. Oh, she was looking forward to this reward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elia's jealousy... I don't think Rhaegar minds. Plus we got to see an example of her political skills.
> 
> Poor Arthur and Dacey... unfortunately, his oath is something to consider here.
> 
> Doran, yep, he's he Dornish Tywin. But we got to see Oberyn pine after Ellaria in his own way XD
> 
> Next time, Return to King's Landing. If I can get 40 comments, I will update on Saturday.
> 
> Little question for y'all. What actors or actresses do you think would play the original/younger versions of the characters here? The fantasy draft pick choices that I pick will get a shoutout next update :D


	33. O'er the Hills and Far Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone. Hope y'all are staying safe.
> 
> Announcement: next Tuesday is the anniversary of the final episode of GoT. Yep, fuck it, but I want to let all y'all know that I will be publishing a short story called "The Mystery Knight" set in the world of "An Empire of Ice and Fire" to commemorate the black day with some quality content with our favorite characters. Keep your eyes peeled for it!
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

While most in their household were irritated at having to leave the quiet serenity of Dragonstone for the Red Keep - and the smell of Flea Bottom emerging from the city itself - one violet-eyed little dragon was the most vocal about it. _"Muna,_ why we no stay at Dwagonstone?"

Lyanna reached down to ruffle her midnight curls. "Oh Rhae, _kepa_ and _munas_ are the Prince and Princesses of the Seven Kingdoms. We must work out of the capitol." While her and the babe would rather stay in Dragonstone, she was looking forward to the updates on her project with Elia.

"Why no work on Dwagonstone. Ravens there." No one could say Rhaenys wasn't a bright child. "King Landing smell like phew!" As if by design, the tabby cat clutched in her arms hacked. "See, even Balawion hates smell. Blech."

While both her mothers laughed, they were drowned out by Rhaenys' squeal when an imposing armored figure lifted her on his shoulders while the cat screeched and fell out of her arms. "Come now, daughter," Rhaegar boomed, beaming at her giggles and the adoration of his wives. "Are you not a dragon of House Targaryen?"

She tangled her tiny fingers in his silver hair. "I am a dwagon, _kepa!"_

"Are dragons all as adorable as you?" Elia snickered, rocking a rather active Aegon.

Watching her cat scamper around, Rhaenys wriggled. "Put me down."

"I don't know, wife," Rhaegar grinned. "Such adorableness is dangerous, so perhaps I should chain her in the dragonpit?"

_"Kepa!"_

"Rhaegar," both Princesses scolded, biting back laughs.

"I could get the chains now, your Grace," chuckled Benjen, earning a withering glare from the tiny Princess… which only made her look more adorable.

"Ser Arthur, what do you think?"

Silent, some distance behind them, the Sword of the Morning looked at his Prince with worn, sunken eyes. "I think the Princess should be alright," he said flatly.

With a sigh at the sullen Arthur, Rhaegar put his daughter down. Who ran over to scoop up her cat.

As such, she ran into someone. "Grandmother!"

The light returned to Rhaella's life as the rest of her beloved family was back with her. "Come here, little dragon." Warmly embracing the child, she still opened her arms for her son. "Rhaegar."

The Prince smiled. _"Muna."_ They embraced tightly. "Thank the gods you're here with me again."

"I'll always be here for my sweetling," she cooed, kissing his cheek. Even when he took his throne, to Rhaella he'd always be the little boy with the silver curls that ran around the Red Keep pretending to be Caraxes. "You said in your raven that you wished to speak with me?"

He nodded. "Later, _muna._ I have something to take care of." Not that he wished to speak with Melisandre, nor that Connington hadn't been at the docks to welcome them. "Please help my brides get settled."

"Of course, son." She could tell he was hiding something, but let it go with another kiss on the cheek. "Be careful."

"How is my goodbrother?" Lyanna asked as they all sat in the Queen's solar. What ravens Rhaella had sent to Dragonstone were… not encouraging.

"Viserys… he's improved. Still determined to please his father, so he's committing more to his studies and early training. I worry he's setting himself up for another big fall, but he loves Rhaenys so she being around may improve his mood." Rhaella really wanted to speak about something happy. "So," the Queen smiled, hands on her knees. "How was Dragonstone?"

Rhaenys piped up. _"Muna_ give me big brudder!"

Rhaella raised an eyebrow, seeing Lyanna whiten slightly. "And why is that Rhae?"

"Little brudder in _muna_ belly" She walked over and kissed her stomach. "Hi wittle brudder."

Lyanna ruffled her dark curls. It was impossible to hide. "Now sweetling, it could be a little sister."

The Queen's eyes widened. "Really?"

This wasn't how she wanted to disclose it, but Lyanna bit her lip - nodding. Elia held back a laugh at her daughter and sister-wife.

The widest smile spread on Rhaella's face. "Oh Lyanna!" She leaned in and embraced her gooddaughter tightly. "I'm so happy for you!"

Lyanna beamed as well. "Thank you Rhaella, I'm very happy as well."

Even as she spoke, Lyanna could sense there was something… off about her goodmother. While the Queen handled an impossible duty with poise and stoicism, there was a sadness about her indescribable. It only seemed worse now. "Rhaenys sweetling. Why don't you go play with Belarion in the gardens. Benjen, go watch her."

Her brother bowed, which a smirk made it less respectful and more teasing. "Come on, Princess." The girl happily followed her newest uncle.

"Rhaella?" Lyanna said once her daughter was gone, reaching out to touch her knee. "Is everything alright… with you?"

She hesitated. "Yes. Why?"

A shared look with Elia, who nodded imperceptibly. "Goodmother, there's no need to lie to us. Please."

Her wall simply vanished, beautiful Valyrian features marred with stress and melancholy. "If his Grace had his way, yours wouldn't be the only new babe in the Red Keep."

Dread began to fill the stomachs of the Princesses. "His grace wants another child?"

"At least one daughter... for Viserys."

Both Lyanna and Elia embraced their goodmother "Oh Rhaella, I'd love to see a little you running around, but what Aerys must have been doing to you…" It was obvious to them that she didn't necessarily consent to this. "I'm so sorry." Each knew what the King was capable of.

"Nothing has happened so far... he's been locked in his rooms obsessing over the dragon eggs."

"Thanks the old gods and new" Elia breathed.

Tears welled behind the Queen's lids. "I don't think I could survive another failed pregnancy..."

Their hearts broke in two. Rhaegar already told both about all the miscarriages, stillbirths, and dead infants Rhaella experienced - how each one only broke his mother further and fueled Aerys' increasing paranoia. "All will be fine, goodmother." Elia knew the fear from when she carried Aegon.

"I think any one of yours will make it," Lyanna murmured. "Perhaps my babe and yours were destined to be companions."

"My guess is that when Rhaegar finds out," Elia laughs. "He's going to try and betroth both girls to Egg."

"Targaryens and Starks, the continuation of the Pact of Ice and Fire." The thought made the Queen smile. Allowing her perfect gooddaughters in for another embrace.

* * *

Angry, dark clouds marred the sky above the muddy roads of the Kingswood… and Jon Connington loved it. Removing his hood so that the rain could pelt his face and hair, smile bright.

"Ah, I love being home!" Gods, he hadn't seen Griffin's Roost in years, beautiful on the hillsides overlooking the sea, surrounded by fields of wildflowers. _When all is done, I shall return. Perhaps bring Rhaegar with me._ Connington longed to show Rhaegar his home… especially his bed…

He spotted the low light just beyond the bend in the road. The inn was a large one, several buildings including sleeping quarters, a barn for horses, and a tavern currently bright with activity. "O'er 'ere, ser!" called a large stablehand as Connington pulled his steed in. "Ow 'ong ya want?"

"One night," he said. "Be quick about it." He dropped a gold dragon in the man's hand.

"Right away, mi'Lord!"

He was soon immersed in a cloud of smoke and heat from the toasty hearths. Dozens of unwashed bodies packed close together, downing roast meat, stews, and sour wine. Connington wrinkled his nose but pushed through.

"Mi'Lord." He found the form of one of his loyal bannermen. "The two of 'em are in the back. Private table."

Connington's eyebrow rose. "Two?" At the man's nod, he shrugged and made his way towards the private table, confused.

This inn clearly received a lot of more clandestine business. Turning a corner into the private area, Connington was delayed by a rough-looking guard, the barest patch of a stag sigil covered by a cloak. "That's him, Cole." The Hand stiffened. _Stannis…_

Face tight as leather, there was no warmth in Stannis Baratheon - blue eyes a bitterly cold ice as they regarded Connington. "Ser Stannis, I was expecting your older brother." Yet, a second man… no, a boy sat at Stannis' left. Lean and lithe, lustrous curls fell to his shoulders. Almost a younger and more… gentle version of Robert. His face reddened slightly at Connington, looking away. _Interesting..._

"He's indisposed," Stannis grunted. _Cock deep in some whore, I suspect._ "I brought my brother Renly." _Ah, Renly._ He had grown since Connington was last in Storm's End. There was something about him… something the Hand couldn't quite place. "Let's begin."

"Yes, let's begin." He took his seat, taking the cup of wine. A sweet Arbor gold. "An opportunity has come to the attention of the Crown… one where House Baratheon can prove its loyalty."

Stannis' scowl only deepened, but it was Renly that cut in. "We proved our loyalty when our parents died!" A sharp glare from Connington caused him to sink back in his seat, embarrassed. _What in seven hells?_

His brother cuffed him on the back of the head. "Enough, Renly." Stannis shrugged. "My brother is an idiot.." Renly glowered, eyes flickering to the Lord Hand. Smoldering eyes… "But he bears true. Why should we have to prove our loyalty?"

_Why couldn't Robert have been here?_ The idiot would have already been drunk and completely suggestable. Yet there was promise in Renly… _What makes you tick, little Lord…?_ "Shadowy forces will threaten the Crown. Many heads will soon roll, ones whose positions can be filled by loyal houses. Namely yours." Connington leaned forward, red hair and beard matted to his skin, laying on the charm. A test. "The opportunity for those of House Baratheon to know the halls of power… quite intimately." The last word came out with a smack of the lips.

Dour Stannis couldn't spot flirting if a whore sat naked upon his cock, but the youngest Baratheon practically blushed crimson. Shifting in his seat as if readjusting his pants. _Ah… he's one of us, then…_ Oh, this just got a lot easier. Little Renly didn't have the same pull as Robert would, but Connington's control over him could be even stronger.

"What would you have us do, Connington?" Stannis crossed his arms. "I am not my brother, and I will not let this House go off half-cocked." Eyes locked with Renly's, Connington suppressed a grin when he saw the boy lick his lips.

The next hour found several flagons of wine shared, most by the Baratheons as Connington paced himself, casually discussing various matters that were not of consequence. It became apparent early on that he had them at supporting whatever side he was on, and that they could convince Robert to side with wildlings if he asked them to. No, by now the objective was getting Stannis to stumble out, leaving Connington alone with the young stag - increasingly brazen in the looks of desire he shot his way.

"Fuck all of this, I'm going to sleep," Stannis said after a while. "Don't disturb me, runt, or I'll knock your teeth out." He stormed off, leaving Connington alone with Renly.

The four-and-ten nameday old managed to realize through his drunkenness that he was alone with the most attractive man he had ever seen. "Looks like it's just us… _Little Stag."_ Renly didn't know what to think or say… the voice so… elegant.

Jon Connington was more disgusted by every passing minute. No one could compare to his beloved Silver Prince, and the boorish behavior of the strength-obsessed Baratheons led him to despise the family. Still, duty pushed him forward - not to mention he hadn't laid with a man in a long while, and Renly was a gorgeous thing objectively speaking.

"... glad you allowed me to stand in on something so important…" Renly stammered, not knowing that Connington didn't hear anything of it.

Once again, he decided to cut to the chase. "Tell me, have you ever been with a man?"

His eyes widened into saucers. "What… what are you talking about?" Renly replied, trying to remain calm.

Jon Connington had seduced many men, and this was one of his easier ones. "You don't have to hide it, Lord Renly." He leaned forward, taking the young man's hand in his. "You try to deny it, but I could tell from the moment I saw you that you had such a predilection."

His heart beat out of his chest. "No, I don't," Renly stammered frantically. "I swear!" How had his secret gotten out? He had been so careful. _How does the Hand know?!_

Before Renly could run off, Connington stilled him with a gentle hand on his upper thigh. Watching the young man stiffen, then relax. Savoring the touch. "It's perfectly natural. It is a predilection I share." He allowed himself a grin when Renly stared at him, jaw dropped. "So I'll ask you again, have you ever been with a man?"

Renly hung his head. "Never." He hadn't once trusted any man enough to act on his desires.

"Perhaps we can rectify that situation?"

Renly was still frozen as Connington stepped in front of him, standing only inches apart. "But my brother…" Is this really happening?

"Just let go, Little Stag." Connington's lips were a mere inch away from Renly's. Just one moment from breaking him. "Give me the honor of being your first.."

Gods, this was happening… this fire-kissed god was offering him his bed. "I… want to know what it feels like."

Connington cupped his soon-to-be lover's cheeks and kissed him. Renly melted, never wanting it to stop...

Inconspicuously, hoods over their heads and several paces apart, Connington led the younger man out of the still boisterous tavern and to the inn building across the way. Unlocking and shutting the door to his rented room behind him. It was a medium-sized chamber, spartan but clean - Connington didn't waste time. He picked up the quiet Renly and shoved him down on the bed. Enjoying how desperately eager the young man was - it wasn't Rhaegar, but there was no way he wouldn't take advantage.

"Please… don't make me wait…"

And Connington didn't. As aroused as he was, this would be done quick and dirty. He was in a ravenous mood. "This might hurt a bit."

"I've been waiting for this for so long now, my Lord!" What Renly felt next, he couldn't describe. It caused him pain, but at the same time pleasure - somewhat close to a burn… a good one, that is.

"Ah…" Connington grunted. "So good, Little Stag." In reality, the older man was thinking about Rhaegar, his Silver Prince. Elia and Lyanna, the whores didn't deserve him. _Rhaegar was made for me and no one else._

For the rest of the assignment, Connington took his frustrations and hate for the Queens on the young man. Taking what he wanted over and over… and Renly loved it. Feeling every dream of his life come true. "Please, Jon," he moaned. "More. More… I love you!" How could it be anything but love?

"Would you do anything for me, Renly?"

"Yessss…" he moaned.

"I could have you brought to the Red Keep as my sworn sword…"

"Please…"

"If you do what I want. Do whatever I ask."

"I will! Gods, I will!"

_Perfect._

* * *

_Dearest Cat,_

_Do not fret about the boorishness of the Northerners. It is not their fault that they were denied the blessings of the Seven. It is your responsibility to show them the way of the Seven-Pointed Star. Faith will show you the way in these dark times._

_Ned seems like his head is on straight, given he was raised by Jon Arryn in the noble tradition of the Vale. But be careful, Cat. It is always the quiet ones to watch out for._

_Stay safe and pious, Cat._

_Petyr_

Clutching the letter to her chest, Catelyn sighed. Remembering her happy times at home in Riverrun, the dances and feasts. Walking the banks of the Trident with Petyr, Lysa, and Edmure while wearing pretty summer dresses hand stitched by her - dreaming of the handsome Lord that would sweep her off her feet. Such had truly happened with Brandon...

Shivering, she wrapped her cloak tighter around her slender frame. _Curse this dreadful place._ There was no life in Winterfell - just drab and ugly. Oh, how she longed for Bran to arrive and bring life back here with his glittering smile and magnetic personality.

A knock on the door startled her. "Come in."

It was Dirk, one of her guards from Riverrun. "My Lady, Lord Stark wishes to speak with you in his solar."

She sighed. Ned was no Brandon, but at least he was polite and courteous. One had to be when raised by the great Jon Arryn of the Vale. The windowless corridors were a massive contrast to the airy, lighted halls of Riverrun. Catelyn was happy that Ned used her own guards to escort her about the keep. The Stark guards always eyed her in the wrong way. _Thank the Gods I haven't seen that hulking, simple oaf since the first day._

"Lord Glover thinks his lookouts saw scouting ships close by Deepwood Motte," Catelyn heard from inside the solar. "But he can't be sure."

"How many ships do you have, Jorah?"

"Two dozen, my Lord. Not much but stout sailing galleys as good as anything those salt fuckers have."

"Good. Better keep watch off Flint's Finger. They'll probably attack there…"

Impatient, Catelyn opened the door herself to find Ned, Jorah Mormont, and Howland Reed crowded around a map. "Lord Stark, you summoned me?" she asked, curtseying.

If Ned was annoyed at her interruption, he hid it. "Ah, Catelyn. My Lords, if you will?"

Each nodding, Jorah and Howland made their exit. Catelyn's nose wrinkled as the slight Crannogman passed her. _Gods, have these swamp people ever heard of perfume?_ But alone with her goodbrother, she approached and sat in the chair he offered for her. "What would you like of me, Ned?"

Ned wanted to like Catelyn Tully. Bran had affections for her - not hard to see why, with her fair face and fire-kissed hair - and she adored him… but Rhaegar's personal concerns about her suitability as Lady of Winterfell just couldn't leave him. "Yes, I just had some concerns to share with you."

"What concerns?" she asked.

"I see that you have been increasingly making your mark within the keep."

A look of joy came on her face. "I believe my efforts are brightening this rather drab place, Ned."

He nodded, smiling tightly. "Um… the directives to expand the baths and bathe more regularly are ones I approve of," he said, starting with the good things.

"Less filth, less vapors, I believe," Catelyn replied. Men and women in Riverrun weren't always clean, but never as filthy as here.

Ned didn't know how to broach the rest, so he decided to be gentle but blunt. "Five guardsmen were flogged at your orders earlier this week."

She smiled proudly. "They were engaged in a dice game."

"I doubt that playing dice deserves a flogging."

"Gambling is a sin against the gods. It must be punished or else perfidy will spread."

_Oh hells…_ "Two well-liked maids from the household staff were demoted and placed on milking duty… I talked to the senior maid, and she told me you directed Septa Mordane to see it done."

A frown formed on Catelyn's face. "Those maids were baseborn."

"They were kind and industrious workers - completely loyal."

"Loyal?" Catelyn scoffed. "Bastards are wanton and treacherous by nature." She waved her hand. "Best let them handle the cows and pigs where they belong."

Clenching his teeth, Ned had enough. The little things he could take, but this was just unconscionable. "You will personally see that they are restored to their former positions."

"Why? I am looking out for our House…"

"No, Catelyn. You are acting against my House."

"All this for two bastards, born in sin?"

"It is not their fault they were born, Catelyn."

Another scoff. "You were raised by Jon Arryn and in the Light of the Seven. I would think you know better."

He slammed his fist on the table, making her jump. "We are not in the south! We do not worship the Seven and it's time you learned that!" He leaned back and crossed his arms. "I didn't want to do this, but you forced my hand. No directive you make is binding unless confirmed by me."

"Brandon won't stand for this!" She balled her fists. "He's a cultured man, not like the rest of you!"

_You're in for a shock._ But it wasn't his place to say. "Bring it up with him when he gets here. Until then, get out of my sight."

_Who does Ned Stark think he is?!_ Her anger was still hot as she stormed back to her chamber. _One of theirs marries the Crown Prince and they think themselves gods beyond reproach._

"Brandon," she murmured to herself, alone in the drafty hallways bare of anything beautiful. "Why can't you be here? You'd understand." While of the North, he was the perfect southern noble during their courtship. A ray of light and warmth in this dark, freezing land…

In her rush to return to her quarters, Catelyn didn't look where she was going and almost tripped over someone. "Gods…" she hissed. "Watch where… Lord Bolton."

Tall and gangly, the Lord of the Dreadfort bore a tiny smile and mild-mannered expression. "Lady Stark," he bowed. "Forgive me, I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings."

Catelyn couldn't help but smile in return, grateful for such courtly manners. "No… the fault is mine, Lord Bolton. And I am not Lady Stark yet."

"Nonsense," he repeated. "You are the betrothed of my Liege Lord's heir. As far as I am concerned you are Lady Stark and deserving of the utmost respect."

She blushed, further flattered. "Well, thank you, Lord Bolton." The man was kind and respectful in a plain leather jerkin and pink fur cloak, a far cry of the sadistic monsters that her goodfamily dubbed them as.

Voice small and soft, he saw the innately irritated Catelyn Tully further disarmed. "May I say something, Lady Stark?"

"You may."

"I appreciate all you are bringing to this place." The Leech Lord's tone had nary a hitch as he lied, smiling inwardly as the Trout lapped it all up. "We have been isolated for far too long…"

Catelyn brightened. "I know… the North had no reason to isolate itself from the rest of Westeros after Aegon's Conquest. Even Aegon accepted the teachings of the Seven-Pointed Star, yet the North failed to accept the blessings of the Father and Mother."

"A little culture and we could see the North rise to new heights," Roose said. "I shall seek to foster my future heir in the south just as Lord Stark did with his… perhaps at Riverrun?"

"I'm sure my father would be honored. I certainly am."

Roose smiled. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask, my Lady. House Bolton put aside its enmity with House Stark centuries ago."

She curtseyed. "I shall remember it. Good day, Lord Bolton."

Watching as Catelyn disappeared around the corner, Roose walked back to his chambers. Chuckling the entire way. "Oh ancestors, you tried so many times to destroy the Starks." A rare grin touched his face. "Now, that glorified septa will do it for us."

* * *

_Dearest brother,_

_My eyes seemed to deceive me for a moment, reading what you told me. The Sword of the Morning himself having fathered a child with a northern lady? I'll have to meet this Dacey Mormont myself and see just who broke the incorruptible Ser Arthur Dayne._

Dressed down to his tunic and trousers, Arthur sighed in reading Ashara's letter. Ash… she's always been blunt. Part of him was glad to read it though - Oswell and Gerold were… prone to make levity of his situation, and he was not comfortable asking for Rhaegar's advice. He hated to have the disapproval of his father cast down upon him, so Ashara was the logical choice. There was no one he trusted more in the world than his little sister.

Sitting upon his bed, Arthur began reading the rest of the letter.

_I'm sorry if I sound too scathing. In all honesty this could be the woman who truly has your heart, and if that is the case then there would be no one happier than me. Seeing you with a highborn beauty who loves you deeply is what I would hope you to have. Unless you have grown soft and decadent in the capitol, that's what I believe has happened._

_But fathering a bastard under your oaths? Falling into bed with anyone outside of marriage given your white cloak… oh Arthur, I know how this must destroy you inside. Even if you love her this is a serious matter. You are no ordinary knight, but the Sword of the Morning. Noble throughout the Seven Kingdoms. To have this on your shoulders can only be the worst of situations._

She did have a knack for digesting the situation to the base problem. Head pounding, Arthur felt the urge to end it all. To cleanse himself of his dishonor in a noble death… but that babe was his. Dacey was his love… Rhaegar needed him. That would be the worst dishonor.

_Your friend the Crown Prince would legitimize that babe in a heartbeat, but you need to look inside yourself. Do you have the stones to recognize a bastard child? To keep that white cloak even with that knowledge? Any man can hold themselves to honor, but only the greatest can be honorable even in the greatest of dishonors. To act with chivalry and inner strength when a lesser man would resort to sin and debasement._

_I cannot tell you your path. Only you can chase it._

_Love,_

_Ash_

Arthur fell back onto the bed - cold and small without Dacey beside him… yet that was what he deserved as a Kingsguard. Trading title and family for honor and immortality. As with the flawed of the past, Arthur had joined them.

_My oath or my babe? My oath or my love?_

Sleep would not come easy to him that night.

* * *

Lyanna Targaryen immediately stood when her husband walked in, dressed down in a simple tunic and breeches. Without delay she rushed to him, kissing him sweetly. "Hello, husband."

"Mmm, my warrior Queen." Rhaegar rested his forehead on hers, already relaxing with her close by. "I'm so glad to be with you, my love." The only thing that would be better was if Elia was here with them… every time he was with one, he felt a yearning for the other on top of it all. Was it the Valyrian dragonrider in him? The will of the gods? Regardless, Rhaegar felt no ounce of guilt for loving them both.

"Mmmm," Lyanna smirked. "Is little Rhaegar happy to see me?"

The Prince blushed. "Of course I am." His hands dropped to grope her buxom breasts.

She lolled her head to the side… _No, not yet._ "Wait husband… there's something I have to tell you." Lyanna bit her lip. "It's just… I'm… you and I…" Her hands drifted absentmindedly to her belly.

Seeing her stumble about with her words was quite adorable and funny. "Are you trying to refer to our little dragonwolf?" he asked with a tiny grin.

Lyanna was taken aback for a moment… only to place her hands on her hips. "Did you know all this time?"

"I overheard you speaking to Benjen and Barristan in the training yard."

"Seven bloody hells" Lyanna cursed, stomping her feet. _I wanted it to be a surprise!_

Chuckling, Rhaegar walked towards his bride until she was in his arms. Cursing streak silenced as she looked up at him. Tension gone, merely reflecting love. "I don't think this is a time to be upset, my love."

She broke out into a wide grin. "We're having a babe," she murmured.

"Our babe." Without a care in the world, Rhaegar picked Lyanna up, twirling her around as he had done with Elia all those years ago when she told him about little Rhae in her womb - a move that surprised her at the time, but looking back it was the moment he realized he loved her. "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you!" Now, Rhaegar enjoyed the moment yet again.

Lyanna laughed merrily, held so lovingly. This was her dream… only the dreams couldn't compare to reality. None of the Kings and Princes in her childhood tales able to match the beauty and heart of her own Dragon Prince. "Rhaegar…" she murmured as he put her down, nuzzling his nose with hers.

He placed his hands on her slim, toned hips. One slowly sliding along the sheer nightgown to rest above her still flat stomach – the one that would soon swell with their child. "How long?"

"The maester says a moon and a half..." Lyanna looped her arms around his neck. "Our wedding night, my handsome dragon."

"I love you so much, Lya." The Prince's voice cracked with emotion. "I love you," he repeated.

"I love you too." Lyanna cupped his cheek. "Kiss me."

Complying eagerly, his lips met hers. Tongues lovingly stroking together in a sensual dance - she moaned in his mouth, Rhaegar pulling her flush against him. Needed to be close, to not let him and one bit of this perfect woman to be apart.

Love and warmth turned quickly into a frantic, heated lust. Need a building pressure inside Lyanna. Her hands moved to tug at his laces just as his pulled the nightgown off her body. Both bare, Lyanna's fingers tangling into the silver locks that were part of her wet dreams. "Fuck me," she hissed against his lips, feeling Rhaegar's hard cock against her hip. "I need you, Rhaegar."

Now bare chested, Rhaegar growled - taking control. Backing Lyanna up until her knees hit the bed. "So beautiful, _muna,"_ he husked as they fell upon the sheets, moving to kiss and suck at her muscular neck. Such a vision, toned and powerful. Rhaegar lusting over the ropey column as he had Elia's soft, slender skin earlier that day. Gods… thinking of his other bride only furthered his lust… with a growl, he took a bulbous breast in his hand and suckled the nipple.

_Oh fuck…_ A flood of wetness coated the muscled leg that Lyanna was grinding against. "Yes… _kepa_. Fuck _muna."_ The thought of carrying their babe was not only joyous, but arousing as well. "I'm so wet for you."

Eyes darkening, Rhaegar fell to his knees and started the Lord's Kiss. Licking along the creamy skin of her thighs, a pale milk.. "You taste wonderful."

She writhed on the bed, one hand scratching down his scalp while the other fisted the sheets. His tongue swiping through Lyanna's folds with a frenzied intensity that drove her to the edges of madness. "Don't… stop… please…"

"Dōrī, ñuha zokla." He smirked at her, mouth drenched in her juices. _"Ao sagon ñuhon."_

Lyanna screamed, his tongue pushed deep into her cunt and fingers caressing her nub. _Fuck… fuck… fuck…_ _"Ooooooh!"_ She shattered powerfully, Rhaegar lapping it all up. "My dragon…" she murmured.

He chuckled. "Done?"

"Fuck no." Without wasting a single moment she urged him up, mewling happily as her lips met his once more. Lyanna wrapped her legs around his hips as Rhaegar pinned her arms up above her. Groaning when he sucked her breasts.

Rhaegar laved Lyanna's nipples till she whimpered, weakly trying to push his head into the fleshy mounds. "You're mine, Lyanna."

The Princess shuddered as Rhaegar licked up to her neck. "All yours, my Prince."

Without warning, the Prince flipped her onto her stomach. Pulling up until she was on her knees - a hand pressing Lyanna's head onto one of the pillows and sticking her ass in the air. Folds slick with juices. "I need to be inside you," he said.

Gods, there was no limit on how this man turned her on. "I need you inside me." Moaning when his cock began to poke at her entrance. "Now, my dragon. Now, _kepa._ Fuck me. Fuck me!"

He thrust hard, her cunt hot and tight around him. "Seven Hells, Lya…"

"Oh Gods!" Her walls melded around his cock, Lyanna biting her lip. "Faster!"

Sweat slicked bodies crashed together, hips smacking as Rhaegar held nothing back. _"Kessa, gūrogon ziry Lya!"_ Valyrian words tumbled out, a moan leaving his wild northern bride. _"Gūrogon ñuha orvorta!"_

Lyanna adored it when he spoke Valyrian. "Please fuck me harder!" she wailed, a hand kneading a dangling breast.

"Beg," he demanded.

"Fuck please!" She tried to rock back into him, desperate. "I need your cock deeper! I need it! I FUCKING NEED IT!" She screamed when he grabbed at her dark brown locks, pulling it back as he began fucking her madly. _Yes… that's it… use me, Rhaegar…_ Lyanna surrendered to the only man she would ever love.

_"Nuhon!"_ he hissed in Valyrian. _"Ñuha zokla!"_ Thrust. _"Ñuha zokla!"_ Thrust. _"ÑUHA ZOKLA!"_

"Yours!" she screamed. "I'm your fucking wolf!"

Just as he let go of her hair, Lyanna buried her face in the pillow as she literally shattered around him. Feeling his seed shoot deep inside her.

"Lya!"

Later, Rhaegar pressed a kiss on his bride's bare shoulder. Watching in reverence as she hummed in her sleep. "I love you, my wolf," he murmured, deftly sneaking out of bed and donning a thick robe. Finding the hidden tunnel in his chambers and sneaking through to his favorite place to…

"I knew you'd be here."

Rhaegar stopped, finding the midnight locks and twinkling brown eyes of his Dornish Princess. "Elia…"

Smiling softly, she patted the chair beside him, embracing him tightly. Lips searching out his. "Gods, I missed you."

"I always miss you, my love." _Four years without her…_ How had he endured it? "I'm going to be a _kepa_ again."

"You are, husband." A new little dragon, a sibling for their children. Elia was truly happy. "I honestly hope its a boy."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, and why is that?"

She bit her lip. "Been thinking about it. I'd love a mix of you and Lya, but handsome like his father. One that can join Egg in being just like the man I love."

Brooding slightly, Rhaegar looked down. "There are far better men than they can take after." But he found his chin brought to look in the honey-brown eyes of his wife.

"There are none better." A gentle kiss followed. "Strong, noble, smart, powerful, and a man that brings joy to the lives of both of his Princesses. What more could I want in sons?"

"They'd both have to wed two," Rhaegar laughed. "Though I suppose the precedent is set. Rhaenys perhaps, or one of the Starks Brandon or Ned will ultimately have."

_Or Rhaella's future child, if she has one._ Any son of theirs would be lucky to marry a Stark or mini-Rhaella, though better a child of Ned's than Brandon's. Ned is smarter. "So, you're going to compose a song, aren't you?"

"I've actually already got one." He picked up his harp and smiled at her. "Would you…?"

He didn't need to continue. "Yes." Wordlessly, she snuggled into his side - pressing her lithe body into his as Rhaegar strummed the chords.

_"Duncan met with Jenny fair_

_"In these hallowed halls that day;_

_"But the Prince right now is fu' of care_

_"Since these Princesses staw his heart away."_

_"Altho' she seemed too gu'd be true_

_"She proven has, a price'ss find_

_"Which drives the Prince aften rue_

_"That he'd loos'd a maiden kind."_

Elia leaned up to look at Rhaegar, seeing his bright violet eyes watching her as he sang the words. _Priceless find… Maiden kind._ Lip quivering, she moved to kiss his jaw, filled with love for this man.

_"Tis o'er the hills and far away_

_"Tis o'er the hills and far away_

_"Tis o'er the hills and far away_

_"The let no'un drive my love astray."_

"I love you," Elia murmured. Hugging him as he sang. "I always loved you, Rhaegar." She had almost lost him to the ravages of indifference, but wouldn't make that mistake ever again. _I'll never let you go._

Lyanna was right. His voice could make the birds stop and listen.

_"Since she is fause whom I adore_

_"I'll never trust a woman more;_

_"Frae a' their charms I'll fade away_

_"So fer' them my pipes I'll sweetly play,"_

Alone in his chambers, the King paced about. Mind on his eggs, their stubbornness to hatch. "I am the dragon," he mumbled. It had to be some vile spirit - some malignant vapor that stopped them from hatching for him.

_"Duncan met with Jenny fair_

_"In these hallowed halls that day;_

_"But the Prince right now is fu' of care_

_"Since these Princesses staw his heart away."_

Aeys stopped in his tracks. Melody faint in his ears, but two words loud and blaring. _Jenny… Duncan…_

"Dunk?!" he shouted, turning around. Eyes wide. "Jenny, you whore? Where are you?!" He kept looking, kept searching… finding not a trace yet the song wouldn't stop.

_"She will destroy you…"_ A voice! The voice at Duskendale, the one that followed him whenever the Darklyn bitch would torture him. It was back, guiding him through the chaos. _"Jenny… she is reborn…"_

Why? Why must Jenny torture him so? Why did he need the voice to calm him? "Leave me alone you bitch!"

_"She carries the False Dragon. You must destroy her."_

He fell to his knees, clutching his head as if in pain. "LEAVE ME ALONE!"

_"Tis o'er the hills and far away_

_"Tis o'er the hills and far away_

_"Tis o'er the hills and far away_

_"The let no'un drive my love astray."_

As the young lovers lost themselves in their passion - clothes slowly stripped and the Princess pinned against the wall, moaning as the Prince fucked her hard - a King raged in his chambers. Silent screams lost to the haunted halls of the Red Keep… sight of the blood of Targaryens young and old.

Blood that would soon be joined by that newly spilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was sweet at the end... and a bit ominous...
> 
> The song is Over the hills and far away. Thanks to Patriot-112 for telling me about it.
> 
> Arthur heeding good advice, while Catelyn is spurning good advice.
> 
> And Connington now has an ally in House Baratheon... that can't end well (remember, I've aged Renly up to be 4 years younger than Stannis). Thanks to Nielsen1984 for helping me with the scene.
> 
> Picked tentative actors and actresses for some characters:
> 
> Rhaegar- Sam Caflin
> 
> Elia- Aiysha Hart for current Elia and Leonor Varela for older Elia.
> 
> Lyanna- Katie McGrath for current Lyanna and Eva Green for older Lyanna.
> 
> Ned- Same as show
> 
> Cersei- Emma Watson for young Cersei (only the great Lena Headey can play the older Cersei)
> 
> Rickard- Viggo Mortenson
> 
> Aerys- Peter Capaldi
> 
> Jon Arryn- Michael Caine
> 
> Jon Connington- Tony Curran
> 
> Ashara Dayne- Adelaide Kane
> 
> It helps with visualization. All other characters are still open, so any ideas?
> 
> Next chapter, some massive drama.
> 
> Question for everyone: given that the point of divergence here has basically changed the fates of many characters (Cersei being the most obvious in both fate and personality), what characters would you most like to see have their fates changed. (the core personalities will stay the same, but all else is fair game).


	34. The King's Madness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update, reposting due to changes. Sorry.
> 
> A/N: Hey everyone. Hope y'all are staying safe.
> 
> Good news guys! My short story The Mystery Knight has been published! Be sure to check it out :)
> 
> Aerys is his own warning in this chapter.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

"He hasn't left his quarters all day?"

"No, not even to break his fast." Jaime Lannister looked at his mentor with worry. Unlike him on his shift off, Arthur Dayne refused to even rise. "Both Oswell and Stark are also concerned."

Barristan Selmy ignored the reference of Ser Benjen as 'Stark.' Unlike Jonothor and Lewyn, Jaime actually was trying to get to know him - besides, a morose Sword of the Morning was more pressing. "Go about your business, Jaime." He patted the golden knight on the back. "I'll handle this." There was little doubt as to why Arthur was in this mess - his lover's quarrel with Lady Dacey was already legend within the Red Keep. Many rumors wafted around. Barristan believed none of them.

Opening the door to their dormitory, Barristan found Arthur laying flat on the bed with his arms folded above his head, staring at the ceiling. "Dear gods, what happened to you?"

"Leave me alone, Barristan," Arthur drolled, waving him away.

"Don't you speak to me that way." Barristan wasn't about to let Arthur be a little bitch to him. "I was slaying Blackfyres while you were still in your swaddling clothes! You will treat me with respect!" Arthur glowered but said nothing. "So that's how it is? The Sword of the Morning laying here like a pathetic child? Get up."

He groaned. "What's the point?" But Arthur gave no resistance when Barristan hauled him till he was sitting up.

The older knight sat next to his brother in white. "I've seen men pine over lost women, but this is too much to be simple heartbreak." Silence - Arthur not even looking at him. "You're not going to get anyone…"

"Dacey is with child."

If Barristan would choose a rumor to believe, that wouldn't have been one. "With child? Yours?"

"We were both each other's first lover. There's no one else."

The older man clasped his forehead. "Gods, Arthur. What have you done?"

Arthur chuckled dryly. "I swore an oath to keep chaste… to never wed or father children. Guess I broke it."

"Aye, you did. Never would have expected you to do it, though."

A shrug. "Guess I was never as honorable as people thought I was."

"No, I suppose not." Barristan regarded the man - this wasn't simple guilt… or the guilt was of a different sort. "Unless you love her." He sensed a tension in Arthur. "You do, don't you? Her and the babe."

His gaze shifted wistfully to Barristan. "Yes. I've grown to truly love her."

Barristan's chamber was next to Arthur's, so he had an earful or theirs. He didn't doubt his declaration. "You are in quite the conundrum, then. Kingsguards have broken the oath before." Everyone thought it was Harwin Strong that fathered the Velaryon children of Rhaenyra Targaryen, but it was known in the Kingsguard that Ser Criston Cole was the true father. That was the most flagrant, far other… less consequential acts having done. "But it seems to me that you will have to acknowledge the bastards, which complicates everything."

Arthur looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Complicated everything? That's a fine way to put breaking my oath. Where I'm not supposed to marry and father children?" Arthur buried his face in his hands. "I'm so broken now, Barristan, all my life I aspired for this cloak, when I earned it I was determined to uphold my oaths... but then the she-bear came and my world was turned upside down. I love her, I really do, but all I kept doing is shaming her and my cloak." For someone as chivalrous as Arthur, such was a major issue to deal with. Close to destroying him.

There was a silence. "As far as I'm concerned, that oath was meant to prevent a Kingsguard from developing bonds that would affect their loyalty to the King." He looked at Arthur poignantly. Voice dropping to a whisper. "Do you feel conflict about what we are about to assist Rhaegar in doing?"

Arthur looked up at him. "No."

"Why?" They were betraying their King. Far worse oathbreaking than simply fathering a child with a maiden one loved.

"Because he is not our King. The moment his mind destroyed itself… the moment he almost became a kinslayer, he lost the right of the gods to hold our loyalty." A very First Man way of thinking, steeped in the ancient codes, but one that fit their times quite well. "Rhaegar is my sovereign."

"Very well, then. Is your oath to Rhaegar still strong?"

"As strong as when I first said it," he answered.

"Is Dacey sworn to Rhaegar and Lyanna?"

"I think she'd kill anyone that hurt them." That put a small smile on both their faces. "Love… it's a beautiful thing, Arthur. For those kind and just, it is the bane of duty as greed or sloth is for those weak of heart."

He hung his head. "It's led me to betray my oath, aye."

"Don't speak rashly. I've never loved truly, and neither have most of our brothers, but I can see that for you it is genuine. You have a choice before you, and you will have to live with the consequences of each." He didn't respond. "Would you have resisted Dacey's advances if you knew this would be where you ended up?"

The wait for an answer was interminable. "No," he breathed.

"Seems you've made your choice." Even in the situation, Arthur did the honorable thing. Barristan… he never held such love but knew it to be true. The woman who fancied him and he her hadn't been love so his honor led him to set her aside - but Arthur's was true, and the proper course for the chivalrous was not to deny, but embrace. "Then why aren't you, well… locked in a lover's embrace at the moment."

"Let's just say… I didn't react the best when I heard."

"Oh Arthur, what is wrong with you?" He groaned.

"It's not that simple," Arthur protested. "Dacey is a highborn lady from a noble house. She deserves someone that can give her a keep she deserves and proper wealth and influence to protect her. Who isn't conflicted." He sounded completely broken.

"All of that… it's fleeting. You can't take wealth or influence into the afterlife, but love lasts forever." Something Rhaegar told him once, when they were chatting in the streets of King's Landing that stuck with him. He felt glad to pass it on to Arthur, especially apt for the situation. "As for the rest, she'll understand your conflict."

The Sword of the Morning glanced at him, eyes sunken. "How do you know?"

Barristan clasped his shoulder. "Because everytime that girl passes us, her eyes are locked on you with that same look the Princesses give Rhaegar. Adoration." Arthur blinked. "She does it when you're not looking." At his contemplative silence, Barristan chuckled. "You have nothing to worry about. Go to her. Go to her... or I'll drive my sword up your ass and take you to her," he said seriously.

For the first time since Dacey left, Arthur cracked a genuine smile. "I will."

* * *

The King of the Seven Kingdoms glared hard at the glittering green flames from the hearth. Logs, fetters, and the black-red dragon egg lined with a very thin film of wildfire, needing the strength it seemed to give him. _Never enough… never enough… By Balerion, show me your secrets!_

"Your Grace," came the voice from behind him, raspy. "How would you like us to serve you?"

Aerys turned to the gaunt, hunched forms of his new guests. "I was told by my advisers that your kind can perform miracles."

Sailing all the way from the great and mysterious port city of Qarth, the three warlocks were some of the strangest people he had ever seen. Slender as skeletons, wrinkled faces stretched tightly over their skulls and eyes both bugged out and sunken… if that was possible. Their lips were shaded a rather strange shade of purple-blue. "What we some can call miracles, we call enlightenment of the mind."

"Fuck the riddles. Tell me the damn truth."

Each of them possessed some sort of physical disfigurement. A man with extensively pierced lips - rings and studs of jade and iron mutilating his flesh - spoke up. "We cannot provide you the glory you seek, only open your mind to the potential your blood gives you. All the answers you seek lay within."

Almost screaming at them again, the King demurred. Pondering what he said. "You allege that my blood holds all I seek?" It would mean he was a dragon after all.

"Aye, your Grace," stated another, this one missing his nose. "Your blood is that of the Conqueror. The marring of Old Valyria's children has locked your truth."

Aerys clenched his fists. "Fucking father, fucking grandfather!" Three generations of Targaryens that married Dornish and Wildling scum, destroying the pureblood Valyrian strength of their seed. "What must I do?'

The lead warlock had marred his face with various tattoos. "You are the blood of the dragon, so all we need is a drop of your blood."

"Yes, yes, get on with it." The noseless warlock produced a knife of the sharpest bronze - chanting incantations under his breath as he approached the King. Taking Aerys' hand and pricking it. "Agh," the King exclaimed, watching as a tiny trickle of blood fell from it and into a bowl the pierced warlock held underneath. There was a muted blue liquid within. The blood hissed and sputtered as it landed. "Is that good?"

"Quite good, your Grace. The dragon reacts with the godly brew." _Dilute… weak… pathetic_. Blood of someone pretending to be his great ancestors, but the lead warlock wouldn't tell Aerys that. Wordlessly, he and his comrades gathered their collections of dried herbs, minerals, and poultices to toss into the bowl. Hearing the bubbles and cracks as the liquid changed color and mixed… suddenly growing cold in its final form. "Here, drink this."

Aerys narrowed his eyes. "What the fuck is this?" He took a sniff, blanching. "Smells like shit."

"Shade of the Evening, your Grace. It shall open your mind to the truths held in your blood."

"Be warned," said the pierced warlock. "If you dive deep into your blood truths, you will be lost forever."

"Fuck you, I'm the damn dragon." Grabbing the bowl, some of the brew spilling over the sides, he downed it in a few gulps. Purple liquid trickling down his chin and neck. "Fuck!" he gasped. Waiting for the reaction...

"_Kostagon se drēje pryjagon se pirtir,"_ chanted the warlocks. "_Kostagon se drēje pryjagon se pirtir. Se drēje. Se drēje…"_

Suddenly Aerys found his world spinning - shaking beneath him.

"_Se drēje. Se drēje…_" He opened his mouth in a silent scream before the floor fell away.

_With a jolt he slammed into the ground. Hands scrambling to feel his injuries… only nothing. Aerys was fine._

_"Hello, my son."_

_Blinking, he found his father seated across from him. Aegon V, still dressed in his royal robes, immaculate silver hair pinned back. Just as Aerys remembered him. His eyes narrowed. "What the fuck do you want?" A quick look around found him in his childhood solar._

_His father reacted not to the hiss. "I am looking at my beloved son." His smile was filled with love and warmth, something Aerys hadn't felt in decades. "I haven't enjoyed such since that fateful day at Summerhall."_

_Aerys scoffed. "It was your own foolishness that caused that. Thinking a three part Dornish pretender could be a dragon."_

_"Then what does that make you, little brother." Stiffening, Aerys found Duncan looking at him jovially. "You have my blood, yet you are a dragon while I am not?"_

_Aerys only snorted. "And what are you doing here?"_

_"Waiting," Dunk responded. "Waiting for my brother and friend to return. For mother's beloved to return." Such was the shocking truth to any currently alive. Young Aerys has been his mother's favorite._

_"Don't speak of our mother!" he snarled, only to be enveloped by two slender arms. "Don't touch your King…" he trailed off when meeting two grey eyes. "No… You're not real…"_

_Betha Blackwood looked exactly like Rhaella, minus her coloring and cheekbones. Soft, kind, supremely caring. "My beloved," she cooed. "I'm here."_

_"No, you can't. You left!" The death of his mother when he was young, a decade and a half before Summerhall… Aerys hadn't known joy since. "Why do you care?!"_

_"I never meant to leave, my love."_

_"Of course you did!" he shrieked, tears in his eyes. "First Man whore!"_

_She ignored it. "I love you, my son."_

_It was too much. Too much. "Muna…" suddenly desperate to see her smile, Aerys looked up only to see... "Demon!" His mother had morphed into Serala Darklyn, kindly smile replaced with that lustful malevolence that had so tortured him for years. Her hands grew closer, ready to consume him in the same abuse he had endured at her instigation._

_Surrounding him was a black mist, tendrils wrapping around Aerys. "They threaten you. Fire and Blood, my King." Her cackles filled his ears. "Burn them all, your Grace… BURN THEM ALL!"_

_In an instant he was surrounded by green fire. The happy family incinerated in the towering flames, Aerys gasping as he tried in vain to find his way out of the inferno._

_"Muna?! Muna!" he kept screaming over and over. "Where are you!"_

_But instead of his mother's sweet voice only a roar burst out of the haze. A massive black dragon, draped in flames as red as the setting sun emerged from the cracking ground. It dwarfed even Balerion the Dread. Following it from the gaping earth were two other dragons, one a glaring silver and the other a stormy blue, wings extending as they roared to the heavens._

_But Aerys could only stare at the largest beast. His dragon… the dragon of the greatest Targaryen… He could feel it, it would bring his mother back, his House back to greatness…_

_But the flames only increased, spreading across the entire landscape as the houses of King's Landing emerged. Flames covering them, breathed onto his kingdom as another dragon swept down. Almost hollow, translucent with a heart of black fire within. Black fire… blackfire… Blackfyre! Aerys glared at the rider destroying the capitol of his realm, unable to see the face but knowing this was the false dragon._

_"High in the halls of the kings who are gone,_

_"Jenny would dance with her ghosts."_

_Clawing through the rubble of his kingdom, Aerys found the Red Keep itself. A lone figure where his throne was supposed to be, dancing with the ghosts of his family. Jenny. "JENNY!"_

_"The ones she had lost and the ones she had found,_

_"And the ones who had loved her the most…"_

Aerys shot to his feet, almost doubling over as he gasped for air. It was like he was choking and drowning at the same time. But there was no water, no food in his throat… just the same room with the three warlocks staring at him. "Se drēje," said the lead. "The true shall witness greatness."

* * *

"I'd advise against this, your Grace."

"What use is being in the training yard if I can't train?"

"At least let us accompany you."

"That won't be necessary, it's just a stroll in the gardens."

"I don't like this, sister. I can train later…"

Lyanna scowled, crossing her arms. "Benjen, no. Do not stop your training on my account." Rhaegar and Elia may have barred her from strenuous swordplay because of the hatchling pup growing in her belly, but she wouldn't let Benjen's kingsguard training suffer. "I'm going for a walk in the gardens."

"Lya…" behind her brother, Oswell was more formal yet no less conflicted.

The Princess was in no mood. "No, you are going to train here. By my decree." Grinning at her sullen brother, Lya blew him a kiss as she left. Just managing to hear Oswell's chuckle. _Least he has a sense of humor about it._

Walking through the still vibrant gardens of the Red Keep, Lyanna could allow herself to be carefree. No one was allowed here that did not have the permission of the royal family. The perfect day to simply relax. The gardeners had planted flowers and shrubs perfectly suited to winter, and the lush vegetation was blooming colorfully around her.

"Gods," she mumbled to herself. "I'm not an invalid." While Rhaegar officially finding out had led to a night of the most frenzied lovemaking they'd ever shared, the morning brought not only a delicious soreness between her legs but a concerned husband and sister-wife insisting that she take it easy. _It took me an hour before they allowed me even to ride!_

"_They're just looking out for you, sister," _Bran had told her the moment she unloaded her frustrations on him - she knew her father would only agree. He naturally had taken it well, speaking to little Visenya and promising to teach her "All the things that your mother is too strict to teach," which led to Lya smacking him.

Her family were a bunch of paranoids but she loved them. Especially Rhaegar… my Dragon Prince… and Elia, who had grown to be her best friend. Closer than most married couples, Bran would joke, though it made her blush with… untoward thoughts.

Shaking her head, Lyanna gasped as her eyes settled on something. A bush of winter roses, planted in the middle of the garden. "Oh husband, I know this was your doing," she said with tears in her eyes. _Seven Hells, Visenya. What are you doing to my emotions?_

The roses were beautiful. Pale blue, the color of frost. She bent down and took a sniff. Smelling of a chilly ice and peppermint - the scent of her childhood, when she would often spend wintertime dancing through the glass gardens of Winterfell. Spontaneously, Lyanna picked off one of the flowers and tucked it behind her ear. Feeling just as beautiful as she did when Rhaegar crowned her at the tourney. Seven _Hells, it feels like a lifetime ago._

Turning, a flash of silver hair caught her eye. But it wasn't Rhaegar, but rather the youthful Prince Viserys. She smiled as he played in the gardens. "My Prince!" Lyanna called out, walking to him.

Viserys stilled, looking up at Lyanna with wide violet eyes. "Good morning, Lyanna," he said, bowing. As a second son, he was ranked underneath the future Queen.

"None of that with me." The Starks never used such formalities with each other. "Enjoying your time in the gardens?" The boy was her child's uncle and she would be remiss if she didn't have a good relationship with him.

"I suppose so." Gaze angled towards his feet, shuffling them awkwardly, Viserys felt conflicting feelings for his goodsister. His father found her and the entire North distasteful and the Prince wanted to make his father proud of him…

But Lyanna - and Elia for that matter - was the sweetest person he knew aside from his mother. Always with a kind word or an intriguing story, Rhaenys absolutely adored her and the little girl was Viserys' only friend. How could father and Rhaegar think of her so differently? Both his father and his brother were his heroes.

And so, what conversations they had were… complicated. Not cold but… not inviting. Often, he just tried to stay away from her. Today though, he saw something of interest. "What's that?"

Seeing he was pointing to the flower tucked behind her ear, Lyanna chuckled. "Ah, that. Dear goodbrother, that is a winter rose."

"You wore it at the wedding… and at Harrenhal. Why?"

"Well, at Harrenhal your brother used it to crown me Queen of Love and Beauty…"

"But you seem to like them. Why?"

Smiling, Lyanna gestured for the boy to follow her. Curious, Viserys did until he saw the bush. The roses were pretty… "They are the only flowers that bloom in winter. That's why we consider no flower as precious as they."

Reaching out to touch the petals, Viserys giggled at the sweet scent. "You had them in the North, Lyanna?"

"Aye, of course. They are the most beautiful of the flowers grown in the glass gardens of Winterfell."

"May I have one?" he asked sheepishly, almost embarrassed for such a guilty pleasure.

Thinking for a moment, Lyanna took the flower from her ear and tucked it behind Viserys'. Leaning down and pecking him sweetly on the cheek. "There, now we have the second dragon since Alysanne to hold the beauty of the North."

Breaking through his walls, she was rewarded with a brilliant smile. "Thank you!" Viserys hugged her hip and then dashed off. Practically skipping.

Laughing merrily, Lyanna patted her belly. "You have the best family, little dragon."

* * *

Much as it would displease his wives - Elia undoubtedly telling his fierce she-wolf about what she very nearly walked in on - Rhaegar knew they trusted him. Had there been any doubts between any of them, he wouldn't be here. "So I am who you've been searching for?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"One of those I seek, yes," answered the Lady Melisandre, gaze smoldering in intensity.

Rhaegar was used to the lustful stares of women who wanted him yet couldn't have him. This woman's was… different. "How do you be sure?" he asked, skepticism dripping from his tone. "Why the fuck should I truly believe a word you say? There really isn't any reason for me to believe you, nor any of your kind."

The Red Woman only offered a laugh, unmoved by his words. "We all doubt what we can't understand… as I am sure the armies of Westeros disbelieved the dragons until Aegon the Conqueror set Belarion upon them." They were in the throne room, a single brazier baring a single egg set just in front of the steps leading to the Iron Throne. "What if I could show you?"

"What? A vision in the flames? That would sure clarify things," Rhaegar sarcastically replied.

Her wide smirk was quite unnerving. Melisandre knew the effect she could have on people, and took advantage. "Come here, Prince Rhaegar." Without waiting for his reply, she placed her arm around his waist and guided him to the brazier. "These flames are not the false ones fueled by his abomination… but rather those blessed by the servants of the Lord of Light. Visions can only be seen in the purest of flames."

"I don't see anything."

Melisandre's hand slithered along his shoulders, voice almost seductive. "Look into the flames, my Prince. Let the Lord show you the way."

Eyes glazing over, orange flames glinting against the shiny scales, Rhaegar unavoidably found his gaze fall deep into the fires...

_A battlefield, location unknown from tens of thousands of fields across Westeros. Tens of thousands of men locked in pitched combat. Frenzied, brutal, blood of countless men and boys spilled in the prime of their life._

_"Go on, my Prince," Melisandre continued, voice echoing… as if she was speaking to him underwater. "Search the flames. Find what the Lord of Light is trying to tell you."_

_Rhaegar's waded through the clashing swords and shields. A drab northerner, greatsword in hand as he engaged a trio of men-at-arms. A figure in golden armor, lance depressed as he charged through masses of men. A sudden charge of knights, plate and mail weighing down their bodies and horses charging headlong into the fray - an imposing bear of a man with a helmet of antlers at the van, snarl audible as he barrelled headlong at…_

_Suddenly the battlefield pulsed. Shields of one side and one side only erupting in light. Blinding him slightly, forcing Rhaegar to look away as a shrill shriek warbled loudly over the hellscape…_

_"Kepa." In an instant Rhaegar found himself catapulted to a new scene. The flames changed, serene almost. As if immersed in a cloudless day. "What if I fall off?"_

_"Don't fall off then, my son." He heard his own teasing voice. Older, deeper with experience and yet carefree with a contented happiness that was largely alien to him. "It's in your blood. Sovegon!"_

_"Sovegon!"_

_The air passed him by, like a sudden wind… almost as if he was flying… Rhaegar felt powerful. Rhaegar felt free…_

_"I'm doing it, kepa!"_

_Warmth filled him. "That's it, my son. You are a dragon!"_

_"Higher, boy, higher!" In the edge of his vision, Rhaegar saw a massive wing of green. Partially blocking a smaller form in the distance. A dragon. Black and red, atop which was a young man with dark hair…_

_Lyanna's hair…_

_"I can't wait for them to see!" the boy shouted. "To share this with them, like you and munas."_

_"My son…" he murmured. But the flames slowly rose. Heat slowly built up until unbearable._

_Until a voice emerged, one unknown to him. "Fight, Rhaegar Targaryen," it shouted. "Fight for this. Fight. Fight! FIGHT!"_

_Followed by a female scream, one like a knife to the heart…_

Back in reality, Rhaegar pitched back, drenched in sweat. Scream echoing in his head. "My Prince," Melisandre said, kneeling beside him. "What did you see? What did the Lord show you?"

It all suddenly clicked. The fires of the Red God meeting their match as his blood turned cold. "Lya!" Without even bothering to look at Melisandre, Rhaegar raced out of the throne room.

* * *

The word of mouth spread quickly in the Red Keep. Whispers found servants and guards fleeing for elsewhere. For those unlucky enough to be unable to dash away, they simply bowed or curtseyed as low as possible and said nary a word. Frantically praying under their breath.

For the King was in a mood. It was as plain as anyone could tell. Kingsguards dismissed. Sunken look in his eye, he was just looking for a fault to explode over. Anything from a tongue lashing to being drawn and quartered was a possibility, and everyone from the lowliest maid to the members of the small council knew that he would just need to get to his chambers and burn it off.

Aerys' mind was a cauldron, barely able to see where he was going as he marched towards his chambers. The aftereffects of the Shade of the Evening both gave him a headache and made his eyelids droop, while the weight of the vision made him jumpy in contrast. Willpower fighting between seeking out rest in the cot he called a bed or the desire to deduce the secrets of the vision - it had taken all the urgings of the Warlocks and Ser Jonothor to not drown in the vile purple brew until all was exposed in his consciousness.

And his mother… why was she there? Why couldn't he see her? _Muna… why did you leave me?_ He was a barrel of wildfire ready to ignite… and all that was needed was the tiniest spark…

"And she never, wan...ted to leave…" Aerys halted. "High in the halls of the Kings who are Gone…" His eyes widened. "Jenny would dance with her ghosts…" The King heard enough, marching down the corridor to find his son Viserys. Skipping happily and singing softly… until he caught sight of his father. "Your Grace, he bowed."

The barrel had found its spark. "What are you doing?!" He shouted. "Where did you hear that song?!"

Suddenly set upon by his father's bombardment of questions, Viserys froze. "Umm…"

Aerys' eyes drifted to the flower and he went white. "What the fuck is that?" He had seen it before, in the crowns presented at tourneys, but only one person ever wore a single blue rose…

"Lya gave it to me…" Viserys was clueless of the storm he was bringing down upon himself. "The flower is very pretty, _kepa_."

He was cut off with a sudden backhand to the cheek. The King's rings cut open his cheek. "You are a Prince! Not a Dornish sword-swallower!" Aerys screamed. "We'll just see about this fucking flower business."

Viserys sobbed, tears mixing with blood. "Please, _kepa_…"

"SHUT IT!"

Sighing in joy, Lyanna rubbed her clothed stomach. _My dragonwolf…_ "I love you so much, Visenya." She thought of a beautiful girl with silver hair and grey eyes. Oh, how the world looked brighter after a stroll in the gardens. Stress of her royal duties washing from Lyanna as she walked towards the library. Her library. Eager to scour the thousands of texts to find out the history of the construction of King's Landing and how the aqueducts could…

Turning a corner, Lyanna barely caught a flash of the red royal robes before Aerys' fist crashed into her face. Breaking her nose and sending blood splattering. "YOU WHORE!" she heard him scream. Yanking her up by her hair and slapping her hard as she cried out.

Vision blurry, the northern Princess caught a glimpse of Viserys, trembling with eyes rimmed with tears. "_Kepa_… you're hurting her!"

"Be a man, you little shit!" Aerys pulled the chestnut locks higher, making Lya scream. He liked the sound. "Why did you do it! Why are you corrupting my son, you wildling slut!"

"Your Grace," she wailed. Tasting blood in her mouth. "I didn't…" He punched her again, making her see double.

"I know it's you, Jenny!" His vision tinged red, mind swirling. Be it the effects of the Shade of the Evening or the fury of how warped his thinking was, all he could see was his gooddaughter being taken. Her soul enveloped by the dark magic of his brother's late wife. Someone that court rendered him unable to properly deal with and the whirlwind being reaped now. Over and over he slapped her, tossing her to the ground and kicking her in the shoulder. "You will not corrupt my family!"

Panic flooded Lyanna, hands quickly covering her stomach as the pain stabbed through her face and upper torso. Almost blacking out as another kick slammed into her breasts. "Please, your Grace," she begged, trying to meet his eyes. Finding nothing but a crazed madness - nothing like the loving violet in Rhaegar's. "I carry…" Blood spat from her mouth. "Your son's child…"

In mid-kick, Aerys stopped. Digesting the words from the demon before him. False dragon… false dragon… The fires that consumed King's Landing, the dragon controlled by Jenny…

"_High in the halls of the kings who are gone,_

_"Jenny would dance with her ghosts."_

"No! No, it can't be!" His head pulsed in agony, as if thousands pounded away within his skull. Aerys clutched his head, staggering.

"_The ones she had lost and the ones she had found,_

_"And the ones who had loved her the most…"_

Rage blasting through his headache, Aerys' eyes almost glowed a blazing purple at Lyanna. No… not Lyanna Targaryen, his Stark gooddaughter - no, Jenny had taken this woman. Used her as a vessel for the false dragon that would destroy the world. That would bring the doom.

"_You know what you must do…"_

"Goodfather," she begged, voice soft and halting. Barely able to rise from the pain of her injuries. It was as if her body was on fire, being struck all over with a training blade. "Please… mercy…"

"Mercy is for the weak!" Shoving the crying, shaking Viserys aside - ignorant of the rapidly expanding puddle of piss from the poor child's soaked trousers - and grabbed a candlestick mounted into the wall. Snapping the metal staff out of sheer anger. "You will not destroy my realm, Jenny!" He raised the candlestick, a feeling of smugness filling him as Jenny's grey eyes went wide with complete terror. IT'S MINE! MINE!"

If the pain from before had been unbearable, this was excruciating. The metal crashing against her face, her shoulders, her arms and legs. The crunch of bone filling her swollen ears. Lyanna heard a hoarse scream… realized as her own. Howling a blood-curdling echo into the hallway as the King continued to beat her. Screaming incoherently.

"_Do it… cleanse her…"_

"DIE JENNY! DIE JENNY! THE FALSE DRAGON WILL DIE!" As her hand moved to protect Visenya, Aerys kicked the hand away. Boots stomping on the digits - breaking them. "I AM THE TRUE DRAGON. CONDEMN THE FALSE ONE TO THE SEVEN HELLS!"

_No… stop… please…_ Lyanna barely managed to hear a sudden cry from someone… Rhaegar, Bran, she did not know… just as the candlestick crashed down into her abdomen…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well... I doubt there's much for me to say. Be sure to leave s comment with your thoughts.
> 
> If I can get 40 comments, I'll update Wednesday.


	35. Shattered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. Sorry bout the cliffhanger last time. Kinda shocked everyone here.
> 
> This chapter won't be easier, but there's indications of hope.
> 
> What happened to Lyanna is partially based on Ivan the Terrible and his daughter in law.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

Legs pumping - scared servants staring at him - Rhaegar heard the screams echo through the hallway. Filling him with dread, a sheen of sweat soaked his forehead. Almost tripping, he came alongside his goodbrother. "You heard it?"

Brandon was equally panicked. "It's coming from over there!"

"I AM THE TRUE DRAGON!" Rhaegar saw nothing but the corridor where the booming voice of his father came from. "CONDEMN THE FALSE ONE TO THE SEVEN HELLS!"

Racing around the corner, he saw the King raise a candlestick, Viserys cowering by the wall while laying battered was… "NO!"

It was too late, Aerys striking Lyanna's abdomen - more blows falling on her head before Brandon could throw himself at the King. "Your Grace, stop!"

But Aerys, eyes blazing with madness, threw off the heir to Winterfell. Brandon stumbled back and crashed into the wall. "You will not destroy me, false dragon!" He turned back to Lyanna.

"Father!" Frantically grabbing his arm, Rhaegar yanked him back. "Stop this!" Snarling, Aerys swung back, catching Rhaegar in the stomach.

"What the…" In the corner of his eyes were Arthur and Barristan, their own eyes wide at the scene before them.

"Stay off me!" screeched the King - this time Rhaegar dodged the swing, leaping back nimbly. "No one stops the dragon! No one stops me…!" Suddenly, Aerys stilled. Stunned as Brandon bashed him with the hilt of his knife. He spun around, blacking out.

Brandon simply stood there, watched over by Rhaegar and the Kingsguards with shock. He was lucky it was only after backed away did the servants begin to mill into the corridor. The others would keep his secret.

Watching his father collapse from Brandon's blow, the Prince felt a sudden anger surge through him. Hand moving to grab Blackfyre… "Your grace!" Barristan's shout pierced the fog of rage just as a detachment of household guards arrived. "Get the Princess!" His words may have saved Rhaegar's life right then. "Attend to the King!" he ordered at Thorne, the latter confused if anything. "Fetch Grand Maester Pycelle, now!"

Heart beating in his chest, Rhaegar fell to his knees beside his fallen wife. "Lya… gods…" Her dress was ripped, mouth bloodied while it seemed her entire right arm and face were swollen. "You'll be fine… WHERE'S FUCKING PYCELLE?!" he snarled. More people began to surround him and he almost drew Blackfyre a second time. "NO ONE TOUCHES HER!"

"My Prince." He calmed, seeing it was Arthur. "We need to get her out of here."

A weak, gentle hand brushed against his arm. "Rhae… Rhaeg…" It was Lyanna. Voice faint and eyes barely seeing through the approaching blackness.

His eyes snapped open. Finding her greys so muted, fading… as if she was close to the end. "Lya. My love," he cupped her cheek. "You'll be alright."

"Tired… it hurts…" Suddenly a trickle of blood began to drip out of her torn dress.

Spotting the blood, Rhaegar felt gutted. "No!" Without warning he hefted her in his arms. Cradling her head with as much care as he could. "Out of my way!"

"Rhaegar…" she gasped weakly.

"No, you'll be fine! Hold on!"

"Take care… the babe… if… if…" Sleep began to take hold.

It was close to destroying Rhaegar, yet he kept running. "Hold on!"

* * *

Both Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan placed their hands on their sheathed swords when the door to the royal wing opened. But at the silver-haired form of Queen Rhaella - followed closely by Ser Jaime - they relaxed. "Rhaegar?"

Her son rose, opening his arms to accept her mother's hug. "_Muna…_ how is Viserys?"

"Your brother is fine. Bruised a bit… but fine." Rhaella had just spent an hour calming him down, the boy utterly hysterical. It shattered her heart… but this was worse.

"And the King?" asked Brandon with a sarcastic sneer. "How does our illustrious monarch fair?" Normally ready to chastise him, Rickard refused, just as enraged.

Sensing Rhaella's discomfort, Jaime answered. "Bruise on the skull. Acolytes gave him Milk of the Poppy."

"I wish he was dead," mumbled Ellaria. Dacey nodded beside her, arms wrapped protectively around herself.

Swallowing hard, the Queen's gaze shifted from Rhaegar to her gooddaughter. Elia looked pale, eyes red. "Any word on Lyanna?"

"None. It's been hours." Elia's voice quivered. "They've been working on her so long…"

All conversation stilled as the door to the chambers opened - Pycelle shuffling out. Even at only around five-and-forty name days, he looked ancient… and disgusting. "Your Grace," he bowed to Rhaegar.

Elia sat up first. "Grand Maester, is she…?"

"Princess Lyanna will be fine," he replied, voice low and mumbling. "I suspect a full recovery in at most, half a moon… for most of it, that is."

"What does that mean?" Brandon was angry. "What are you not telling us?"

Pycelle narrowed his eyes, affronted. "Lord Brandon, that is an insulting…"

He was cut off as Rhaegar interjected. "Please, Grand Maester. My wife was hurt, bear with our fears. Just… tell us."

Resentful gaze cast once more in Brandon's direction, the Grand Maester nevertheless complied. "She has a broken arm and several bruised ribs. They will take a moon to heal." Such was a small relief, Brandon muttering a thanks to the Old Gods while Elia looked hopeful. "Her remaining injuries are mostly bruises and small cuts, none of which require sewing." Not that Pycelle was capable of it. Gout already crippled his fingers.

"And the babe?" Rhaegar asked hopefully… only for his face to fall when the Grand Maester averted his gaze. "What?"

Elia was in no mood. "Spit it out!"

While still affronted, there was little one could do to her. "Her abdomen was the most severely struck," Pycelle began, choosing his words carefully. "The damage is not so severe as to sunder her womb. The babe…" Even here, he stuttered. Not wishing to see the pain on their faces. "The babe in her womb has been lost."

It took everything in him for Rhaegar not to keel over. "Our child is dead?"

"If you could call it that at barely two moons…" He trailed off when Elia looked close to strangling him. "Yes, your Grace. Princess Lyanna's babe did not survive the… incident. I'm sorry, there is nothing even the most experienced archmaester could do." Noticing there was no response, he continued. "I have given her milk of the poppy to sleep, and I advise you to use it over the next week to control her pain. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to see to his Grace." Pycelle scurried off, no one sad to see him go.

And it hung in the room like a noxious cloud. A few simple words crushing the happiness that had settled upon Houses Targaryen and Stark.

Lyanna's babe was dead.

Killed by her goodfather, King Aerys.

Brandon punched a wall. Lord Rickard was the opposite - as numb as when his wife had died. Rhaella was equally as quiet, yet sobbing softly. The two ladies in waiting threw their arms around each other, trembling while the gathered Kingsguards stood without a word, faces grim. Princess Elia broke down, falling into her husband's embrace. "We were supposed to protect her," she cried softly. "How will we tell Rhae?" _She loved that babe with all her heart... We all did…_

Yet it was Rhaegar that stood the most affected. Arms wrapped tightly around his wife, giving whatever comfort he could… finding none for himself All the blood had drained from his face, the vibrant life in his violet eyes gone. There would be no comfort for the longest time.

Minutes later, the Prince guided Elia by the shoulders - practically holding her up - into the chambers. His chambers. _Their chambers…_ Benjen gave a sad glance to his goodbrother, watching over the room through every bit of heartbreak. Lyanna rested quietly, sheets and furs pulled up to just below her chin. All was serene, supposedly, as if she was sleeping. But Rhaegar knew better.

The bruises all over her bare, pale shoulders and her left cheek swelled in a purple blotch, this wasn't his Lyanna. She wasn't on her side, clutching a pillow tightly silently seeking him. Lips curled into a smile in her sleep. How she shifted softly, dreams happy. Each little tell he had fallen madly in love with was absent. Her sleep lifeless, just like her womb.

Easing Elia into the chair on one side of Lya, his wife immediately took up an arm. "Lyanna… I'm so sorry… I should've…" It wasn't her fault, but Elia couldn't help but feel the guilt wash over her.

As for Rhaegar, the arm on the side he sat beside was splinted. Dangerous to hold or even disturb, so he simply stared at her sleeping form. Wanting to cry, yet unable to. "Lya… I love you," he whispered. "All will be fine."

He would fight till his last breath to prove it true.

_"I'm doing it, kepa!"_

_"That's it, my son. You are a dragon!"_

In the time of his greatest pain, that one image from Melisandre's vision gave Rhaegar peace.

* * *

Whereas the Crown Prince had been perched on the side of the bed the last time Dacey was in the royal chambers, he was gone. Holding the unconscious Lyanna's hand was Princess Elia. Quiet but red eyes and tearstains down her cheeks betraying her emotions.

"Dacey." Pouring warm water into a compress, Ellaria had lost her vivacious nature. Pale and silent. "Elia and Rhaegar are taking shifts by her side." Not even one snarky comment forthcoming. "What did you bring."

"Fresh bandages and watered wine for her." She gestured to the Dornish Princess.

Ellaria sighed. "Good luck. She won't speak. Won't move."

Looking at Elia, at how she watched every hitch in Lyanna's breathing, Dacey came to a very Ellaria-like conclusion. "She cares for Lyanna."

"Well of course."

"No… I think she…" The she-bear dropped to a whisper. "Loves Lyanna."

A moment's confused glance turned understanding. "Oh." Ellaria snorted softly. "All this shit has fogged up my thinking." Her eyes shifted to them, Elia now softly stroking Lyanna's hand with her thumb. "She probably is, but is in denial. The one woman in Dorne who is squeamish about pleasure."

Dacey's lips curled upward. "Glad the friend I know is still in there." Setting the linen and flagon on the table, she cupped her stomach. Feeling the slightest of swells. "Elia must be feeling just as destroyed as the Prince."

The Dornish bastard shook her head. "No, she feels far more pain." At Dacey's questioning look, she demurred. "Forgive me, but it's not my place to say.

Nodding, the she-bear patted Ellaria's arm. "I'll be resting in my chambers. The babe…"

"Go, I understand."

Her chamber felt empty. Not literally, but in truth… without Arthur in her bed as it was in her darker yet equally spacious chambers in Dragonstone, all the life was gone from it.

Silently, Dacey propped open a flagon of spiced fruit cider and drank a bit, settling her stomach. _If Arthur doesn't want to stain his honor with a bastard, then…_ She knew her House would welcome her and her child but it wasn't the same. _I love him. I want him._

But reality had to be faced either way.

A knock at the door nearly made her drop the flagon. "Fuck," Dacey breathed softly. Irritated, she walked to the door and opened it. "Who..." she was cut short when she saw Ser Arthur Dayne standing there.

He was out of his armor, merely clad in a faded purple tunic and trousers. The mighty Dawn was absent from his side. "May I come in?"

Dacey chewed her lip, conflicted. She desperately wanted to let him in. To embrace him tightly, kissing him deeply as she stripped him bare all while whispering sweet nothings into his ear. But her northern pride prevented her doing so. "You may come in."

Arthur's breath caught in his mouth. Dacey in her woolen nightgown, hair spilling over her shoulders. _She is radiant._ And yet as he walked in, Arthur took in her sunken eyes, hollow expression. _Because of me…_

But Barristan's words, put aside for hours due to Lyanna, slammed hard into his mind. He took action. As soon as she closed the door Arthur pulled her into his arms. Kissing her hard upon the mouth.

And that melted her. Opening her lips to draw his tongue in, Dacey had been craving this for so long. A taste of it put the best ale of the North to absolute shame. Simply enjoying it.

"I love you," he murmured against her lips.

In her kiss-drunk state, Dacey almost didn't hear it. She pulled back, staring at him. Eyes sparkling. "I love you too." Almost like a dream, her fingers began working on his outfit.

Cupping the back of her head, Arthur pulled their mouths back together, blindly pushing them towards her bed. His own hand pulled at her gown as hers ripped off his tunic.

It took only a moment for them to remove their clothes before Dacey fused their lips together. "Arthur," Dacey moaned. When his lips began sucking her long, creamy neck it was as if her mind turned to mush. "Please..."

Sucking her earlobe between his teeth, Arthur grinned at her whimpers of delight. He shoved her nude form onto the bed, letting his trousers drop to join her. But he caught sight of her tiny bump. Eyes glistening, Arthur climbed atop her - cupping Dacey's face. "You mean everything to me."

Gazing deep into his stunning violet eyes, Dacey wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Need you."

Arthur couldn't help himself. He wanted to just talk to her at first, but seeing Dacey so beautiful and delicious… Taking a nipple in his mouth, sucking hard. "Irresistible, absolutely irresistible." Arthur didn't want her to merely moan. He wanted her to scream.

She read his mind, reaching down to wrap her powerful yet slender fingers around him. "I need you inside me." Dacey wrapped her legs around him. "Now, Arthur."

Gazing at her reverently, Arthur hissed with pleasure as he pushed into her. He leaned down to suck on her pulse, burying himself to the hilt in her luscious warmth. "Missed this," he grunted.

Dacey moaned louder. "Same." She had almost forgotten how wonderful this was. "Oh gods…" A scream left her lips as he hit a spot dreep inside her.

"I love you so much, Dacey," he whispered, rocking their hips together. Possessive. Passionate

"I love you too, fuck, Arthur..." Dacey bucked and writhed beneath him, losing herself in the pure pleasure his touch gave her. Her nails dug into his back, eyes gazing at the handsome, swarthy face of the Torrentine knight. "I'm close, gods I'm..." A rush of wetness flooded out of her, clamping down on his cock.

Her climax triggered his own release. Arthur grunting and spilling his seed inside his she-bear.

Arthur flipped them onto their sides while Dacey gently caressed his back. "That was amazing," he declared, face buried into her hair.

She chuckled throatily. "It was." Dacey bit her lip, suddenly nervous. "What was this, Arthur?"

"I believe it's called reconnection, my little bear cub." He pressed feather light kisses to her temple.

Dacey sighed, snuggling into his chest. "I love you Arthur, but unless you came to terms with our child..."

He quickly cut her off. "I already love him, with all my heart."

"And yet you cared more about your oath…" She didn't want to bring it up but owing it to herself and her babe to do so. "I can't have my child resented by you, Arthur."

"That will never happen." His tone was firm. "This child is mine. I love him and will stand before the realm and recognize him."

She gasped. "But… your oath…"

He smiled sheepishly. "We may have to keep calm until Rhaegar rules, but the true honor is doing right by you and my child. My loyalty to Rhaegar will never die, and I know in my heart that it will never conflict with my love for you." Wordlessly, she nodded. She would never betray Lyanna. Not if all of House Mormont did. "I am a Kingsguard to the death, and I am the man in love with Dacey Mormont to the death."

Her heart soared. "Promise?"

"Over my life, honor, sword and most importantly... my love for you."

Eyes tearing up once more, she kissed him desperately. "I love you… my knight… my handsome, perfect Sword of the Morning…" He may not have been a prince, but Dacey knew exactly how Lyanna felt. How Elia felt. Even as the kiss petered out, she continued to hold him. Letting his heartbeat soothe her.

"Dacey, I want to take you to Starfall."

She looked up. "Really? Why?"

"I want my family to meet the woman I love. The mother of my child."

Dacey's eyes widened at that. "Arthur... but how do you think they will react?"

"My sister will love you." Ashara was vibrant and powerful on her own. They'd definitely get along.

"With what you have told me about her I have no doubt, but the others... I was the one that made their Sword of the Morning forsake his vows."

He kissed her brow. "They'll love you as much as I do."

"I hope so Arthur. I want us to raise this little you as best as we can, together." She agreed with him, thinking it was a boy. A little Arthur, perhaps with her hair and his eyes.

"Nothing will happen to either of you, I swear it."

A wide smile. "If it's a girl I want to name her Lyanna, after my sister in all but blood. If it's a boy..." The smile grew. "Arthur."

He was stunned. "Why... why that name?"

"For one of the most honorable, kindest, and handsomest men to ever walk the Realm."

He hugged her close. "I can't believe the gods gave me such a gift."

"Me neither." At least one couple found their happiness that night.

* * *

Hand of the King Jon Connington hadn't had time to even strip off his boots before he dashed for the royal quarters. "My Prince, I just heard…" It was then that he noticed a third person in the solar. Someone he'd rather not deal with. "Lord Brandon."

"Lord Hand," Brandon replied, eyes narrowing. "My goodbrother and I were simply sharing a glass of wine while my goodsister, brother, and father sit at Lyanna's bedside." Peering at the Hand, it was almost as if Connington held the ghost of a grin at the news of his sister's…

"Easy, Bran. We're all allies today." Rhaegar patted a seat next to him. "Sit. Have a drink with us… please." He just wanted someone to take his mind off of everything. "You've been gone a while."

Connington nodded, taking in Rhaegar. His eyes were sunken, face pale. _A man without hope._ "Meeting with a Lord of the Stormlands."

"Which one?" asked Brandon.

He was waved off by Rhaegar. "Doesn't matter… not now." They all downed their drinks, a sweet Arbor gold. "Gods, isn't this the perfect manifestation of my House. Great and powerful, reduced to this."

"Are you sure there's nothing we can do?"

Looking up at Brandon, Connington knew of the plans. But he also knew Rhaegar couldn't afford to deviate from it, which was why he looked so despondent. "Nothing, unless you want to dangle from a pole," he said bitingly. _At least my plans are going well._ This was perfect… even more perfect if Lyanna didn't survive. _May it be true._

The Stark gripped his goblet with a scowl. "So this is the Red fucking Keep - reminds me of a cheap whore. Something lusted over by many, only to end up with the cockrot."

"That's… oddly apt, brother," Rhaegar replied.

"Is this how it's like? Ruling?"

A shrug. "Not usually. Sometimes better, mostly worse. This would be a quiet day during Maegor or Aegon IV's reign," the Prince muttered sullenly. "I can imagine the North would be quieter."

But Brandon shook his head. "No… no it's not. This, I see now clearer than a cloudless day." Morose, he stood. "Forgive me, I need to take a piss." Brandon patted Rhaegar on the shoulder. "I'll be back soon."

Soon it was just them… like old times. "Some husband and father I am, Connington," Rhaegar said. "Lost my child and nearly my wife."

Lyanna was pregnant? Good thing the King did this. Another child in the line of succession was not something Connington wished to deal with.

The time began to pass, drink after drink passing by their lips as they seemed to forget about Brandon returning. Rhaegar laughed humorously at something. "I try to do the right thing. That should count for something."

Vision blurry, Connington nodded at his Prince's comment. Lips planted in a dopey smile. "True… Rhaegar. _Hic._ So very truuue." Only about two thirds of the sparkling liquid had slid down his throat - the rest trickling down his chin and beard. Even the most poised and noble Lords found themselves wastrels when deep in their cups.

Wiping a tear from his eye, Rhaegar rested his head on his hand. "Gods, Jon. How did my life fall into the Seven Hells?" Without friends or lovers by his side, the Crown Prince became a brooding, weepy drunk. Not a flattering look, but he was within his own solar.

"Life… it is an enigma wrapped in a mys… mys… mystery." Connington on the other hand was in euphoria. What better a day could this have been? "That which is horrid… only… makes the good… all the better." Such was what kept him going.

A grim chuckle left Rhaegar. "The horrid makes the good all the better?" He shook his head. "I should be earning a realm covered in gold and jewels with a thousand dragons in the sky for all I and my wives endured." He tilted his head, drinking. The dragonblood allowed him to handle his liquor better than most. "Sometimes I look fondly back to our youth."

Even tipsy, Connington's eyes widened at 'our.' "Oh?"

"Aye, you and I hunting in the woods. Roasting our kills, sparring together, wrestling… I always used to beat you," he laughed.

His mouth went dry. Those memories… Rhaegar's body pressed up against his even in a sport of strength or a hunt… they filled his fantasies. "Didn't I say I'd always beat you someday?" _Hopefully in bed._

"Will never happen," Rhaegar teased, the low light of the hearth causing his silver locks to sparkle.

His breeches suddenly grew tight, cock straining against them. Connington's indulging with Renly had barely satiated him. Alcohol lowering his inhibitions, he felt it harder and harder not to gaze brazenly and lustfully at his desired lover.

Rhaegar looked wistfully ahead. "I wouldn't give up those memories for anything." He looked at his friend and Hand, tension thankfully lessening between them. "Practically some of the only joy my childhood brought…"

In his drink-addled mind, Connington's self-control snapped. He lunged forward with hand and head. Fingers tangling in the silver strands he dreamed about, lips connecting with Rhaegar's. His mouth tasting sweet to the tongue. Gone was the fact his friend was hurting, gone was the fact he had lost a child. All Connington could think of was that Rhaegar was better than he could imagine…

While the Prince was too stunned to respond in the moment, the returning heir to Winterfell was. Before Rhaegar could gently push his friend away, Brandon grabbed Connington by his collar and threw him to the ground. "Fuckin' pillow biter!" Northern drawl thick, Brandon was on the Hand, fist pistoning into his jaw. "He fuckin' lost his child! My nephew!" Another punch, this time to the chest as Connington was too punch-drunk to react. "Married to my sister!" Punching him over and over. "You!" Punch. "Do not!" Punch. "Touch him!" Punch. "Buggerer!"

Shaking off his buzz, Rhaegar hauled his brother off his friend. "Bran, stop!"

Brandon writhed against his hold. "That sword swallower isn't touching you!"

"Please, there's been enough pain today." That seemed to get to Brandon, relaxing in Rhaegar's grip.

Kneeling beside Connington, the Prince grabbed his hand. Hauling him up. "You were always a bit of a fool," Rhaegar chuckled.

Face bloodied, Connington cracked out a tiny smile. "My Prince... " _My Silver Prince._ "I'm…"

All was broken when Oswell entered the solar. "Your Grace, Lord Stark. She's starting to wake."

Without another thought, Rhaegar scrambled out. Needing to see his wife… leaving Connington there. Fists clenching. _Fucking Starks…!_

* * *

No one left the King unattended - even as he rested almost serenely in bed. As if the gentlest soul alive rather than a rapidly worsening madman. The three slight, petite maids that couldn't hurt a fly if they charged at it with a sword all saw Rhaella and curtseyed low. "Your Grace."

"Leave us. I'll take care of my husband." Not willing to argue with her - nor wanting to - the maids compiled. Soon, it was just her and the sleeping Aerys. Her brother, her husband… her tormentor. _The man that killed my grandchild._

Rhaella hovered over him, trying to remember the happy boy that used to teach her about all the dragons. The smiling man that danced with her at their wedding feast. Trying to remember whatever good memories she could to prevent her from smothering him right there. Ending it and risking her life…

"How could you?" she asked, no one listening. "How could you kill your own blood? Become a kinslayer after all we endured. All the deaths, stillbirths?" Her fists clenched. "How could the brother I knew have become so evil?"

Abruptly, Aerys stirred. Groaning as his eyes fluttered open. "Wha… fuck," he murmured, reaching up sluggishly to clutch at his skull. "Hurts…"

She put on her mask. "Your Grace. You're awake."

"My head…" His glassy eyes suddenly turned bright. "Brandon Stark!"

"You're blaming the man that tried to stop your fall?"

"He… hit.. what?" Aerys found the rage dim to confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Her expression didn't falter a bit. "You tripped over your robes. Young Brandon tried to break your fall but you hit your head on the ground." When had she become such an effective liar?

His mind confused and clouded, Aerys was sure his wife didn't lie to him. "Alright…" a smile tinged his face. "I saved us all. Ended the last dragon."

Rhaella almost smothered him right there.

* * *

_Blinking, Lyanna found herself in a familiar place. A dream, it had to be a dream - there was no earthly reason she could have returned to her former chambers in Winterfell so abruptly. Cheerier, decorated with several tapestries and well-carved furniture but still the room she had grown up in. Unless… no, the gods would not be so cruel as to have her entire marriage to Rhaegar be a dream._

_"Well, Lya, did you think this day would come?"_

_Hearing the familiar brogue, she turned and found who could only be her brother. "Ned," she breathed. He was much older, a man experienced. His face was handsome but worn, yet the grey eyes never lost their happy luster. "I never did think it would end up like this." Lyanna was confused. It was as if she had no control over her voice._

_Ned laughed. "That's what Cersei told me this morning, but I think that's just fine. Right Jon?"_

_She did not have to wait long for an answer. "I'm just happy that I know both sets of goodparents." Eyes drawn to a figure seated at a vanity table, obviously in discomfort from having to be prepped and prodded. The sight filled her with warmth, as if the dream version of her knew and loved this figure very much. "Having to marry my Aunt with Lord Tywin there… I'm glad it's you giving her away, uncle."_

_"Happy to do it. You'll treat her with respect… both of them."_

_Walking over to the table, rounding the seated figure, Lyanna gasped inwardly. Her hair, her coloring, but everything else was Rhaegar. Down to those beautiful violet eyes. "Oh, Jon, my beloved son." She reached forward and pinched his cheeks. "You're to be wed today!"_

_"Muna…" he complained. "I'm not a child."_

_"You'll always be my child," she heard herself say, assaulting him with a flurry of kisses. Is this to be mine? This beautiful boy is my child with Rhaegar? It filled Lyanna with an indescribable joy. "They are both are lucky ladies." The dream her knew exactly who they were, even if the real her didn't._

_Her son brooded like Rhaegar did. "I worry sometimes they aren't."_

_"Oh, you're just like your father. Don't worry about that." He smiled at her, and it was as if everything was right in the world..._

A low light. It was the first thing Lyanna recognized, dim and comforting as it danced along her closed lids. Likely a flickering fire. The feel of the soft furs followed… her furs, from her bed. Hers and Rhaegar's. They felt warm, inviting… like home.

Yet it wasn't home without the warmth of him next to her.

"She's awake." The voice sounded far away, but Lyanna knew it anywhere. Benjen…

A gentle hand grabbed her own, another familiar presence. _Elia._ One that calmed her in only the way Rhaegar could. Brushing a thumb along her palm. "Easy does it, Lya. No need to strain yourself." The Dornish lilt hit her ears like the softest of songs. Lyanna could listen to it every time she awoke.

Trying to open her eyes, it was hard. Lids groggy as if she had been given something. I should sit up… "Argh…" A sharp pain in her stomach sent her crashing down, even if she had only moved a few inches. _What the fuck…_

"Please, little pup." _Father._ "Don't strain yourself, just rest." He had the same tone as he did when she suffered from winter fever as a child.

The door opened. "He's here, Lya," she heard Benjen say, still unable to open her eyes.

Another hand brushed at her forehead. _Rhaegar… my love._ "Rhae… Rhaeg…" she tried to say, voice a hoarse croak.

"I'm here, my love. I'm here." Her world was complete.

"Please try to open your eyes, Lya," urged Elia, voice just as loving and sweet as her husband's. At the moment, Lyanna loved it.

Straining, she finally managed to open them. Gazing up from her prone position to see both Rhaegar and Elia looking at her. While affection radiated off them, Lyanna also sensed… worry. Fear. Pain… "Wha… what happened?"

From the corner, she could hear a sigh. _Bran._ "You don't remember?"

"She's just waking up from milk of the poppy. I think she'll be a bit off her bearings," Elia shot back.

"Milk… of the poppy?" She knit her brows in confusion.

Her father gently reached out to stroke her hair. "You were attacked, little pup. He hurt you bad."

"Hurt…?" Suddenly it came to her. Walking happily from the garden. Aerys' rage. Punching her, kicking her. Raising a candlestick to come down hard on… Lyanna's heart began beating out of her chest. "Rhaegar… the babe, please. Elia… father, tell me…"

What tenderness left the gazes of her husband and sister-wife, replaced with pain. Only pain. "She's gone, Lya."

"No." Lyanna wanted to scream, but was unable to.

"Visenya is gone. I'm so sorry, my love."

All her joy, all her happiness… gone. At that moment, Lyanna Targaryen's soul seemed to snuff out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... safe to say that Jon wasn't the babe Lyanna was previously pregnant with.
> 
> Based on the vision of Lyanna, it's clear that Jon's brides will be Dany and one of Ned's daughters. Still debating which one, so feel free to civilly discuss. Any point raised will be answered by me :D
> 
> Connington... booze doesn't go well with him.
> 
> Until next time! The more reviews the sooner I update :D


	36. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. God, things are insane over here with all the riots and looting. Please pray that it ends soon, and stay safe.
> 
> Anywho, sorry about the sad ending last time. I hope this chapter will be better.
> 
> Happy birthday WhiteDragonWolf!
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

Peeking inside Aegon's chambers, Rhaegar smiled at him fast asleep. The Prince gently kissed his silver hair. "Sleep well, my son." He was a perfect mix of himself and Elia, and Rhaegar's heart caught.

Quietly making his way down the corridor to check on Rhaenys, Rhaegar's mind could only go to the darkest places. Two beautiful dragonvipers as Oberyn had told him on Dragonstone, but as for the dragonwolf that he had loved so... It was tearing him apart inside, knowing that his entire family suffered in silence.

Rhaenys… he feared was the most silent. "Little Dragon?" he asked, finding her staring at the window. Idly petting Balerion, cat resting on the windowsill.

She turned around. "_Kepa."_ The Princess stood and walked to him, hugging him. "I missed you today."

"I miss you every day, little dragon," he replied. Rhaegar noticed just how… different she was. The childish exuberance was gone - it was as if she was on the milk of the poppy, even when happy. _I've seen the same in Arthur when he returned from the Kingswood Brotherhood campaign._ Everything just seemed… pale, dour. "Uncle Ned sent a raven from Winterfell."

Ever since the day after the wedding, Rhaenys absolutely adored her Uncle Ned. "Really? What did he say? Did I get a direwolf?"

Rhaegar furrowed his brows. "A direwolf?"

"I asked him for one. He and _muna_ say I's a Stark now, so I want a fluffy little one to cuddle with like Balerion." The cat purred in the corner, unaware of what was going on.

He laughed, hugging her again. "I think even if there are direwolves south of the Wall, ravens can't carry them." His daughter looked disappointed. "Don't worry, when things settle I'll take everyone to Winterfell for a royal progress. Haven't had one there since Jaehaerys and Alysanne."

Her face fell slightly, mouth opening as if wanting to say something… yet not. Only rising on tiptoes to kiss his cheek and picking up Balerion - holding him to her chest.

Exhaling deeply as he walked down the corridors toward his chambers… not that he slept there anymore. Letting Lyanna have the bed so she could recover while he and Elia took her chambers. Ned's letter didn't just include love for Rhaenys, but in his own shorthand indicated that he was preemptively calling his own banners… ready to fight for Lyanna if need be._ I'm glad Ned's there… his caution is what we need._

Expecting to see Lyanna in bed, when he opened the door the Prince found the bed empty. "Lya? My love?" he called out. Rhaegar moved towards their private bathchamber - his wife was in the bathtub. Knees brought up to her chest and sobbing. Wordlessly Rhaegar peeled his clothes off before stepping into the tub. He was heartened when she leaned forward for him. "Lya, please talk to me," Rhaegar cooed, wrapping his arms around his inconsolable love.

His comforting words, filled with love and heartache, only made Lyanna cry more. "It's my fault, Rhaegar," she croaked. "I had to keep little Visenya safe, but I failed our babe… and you."

"No!" he insisted, holding her tighter. "This is not your fault. You did nothing wrong." _It was all his fault… damn him to the Seven Hells._

Lyanna shook her head. "It is my fault. I should've stayed... instead of being so stubborn…" She choked back a sob. "I killed our babe, Rhaegar. Visenya's dead because of me…" Lyanna couldn't speak, tears returning.

Rhaegar reached a hand out to touch her upper arm. "Lya…"

Lyanna shook his arm off. "Just leave," she whispered, voice harsh. She couldn't deal with this._ I'll never be that woman in my dream._ Her smiling son, gazing at her on his wedding day, would never be hers. _I don't deserve such happiness..._

Running a hand through his wavy hair, Rhaegar complied with a tight expression. Quickly drying himself and donning his doublet and trousers - reminiscing when his bare state would have drawn a far different reaction from Lya, not letting him out of the tub for an hour or more - he walked out to find Elia there. Also on the verge of tears, but begging for his touch. He was not one to deny her. "She won't talk?"

He pulled back with a tired frown on his face - even when pressed skin to skin with his Dornish love, he barely slept. "She blames herself, but won't talk about it further."

"I understand." Elia then gave him a worried glance. "Ser Arthur is here. Your father wants you in the Throne Room."

* * *

The colonnaded walkway of the Hall of Kings was open to the air, leading from Maegor's Holdfast and separating the gardens from the main courtyard. It bore such a name from the statues of Targaryen Kings past, each watching Rhaegar as if in judgement. Aegon the Conqueror, Jaehaerys the Conciliator, Daeron the Young Dragon, Aegon the Unlikely, all staring down upon him in disgust at weakness.

_"What are you doing?!"_

_"You couldn't protect your family!"_

_"How can I have seeded such a cowardly line?"_

_"Your father is destroying what we built!"_

Each voice seemingly slamming into his ears, yet Rhaegar continued walking. Rage welling inside him. Two wives demeaned, a mother assaulted, one wife brutalized twice… a child dead. All perpetrated by his own father, the King of the Seven Kingdoms. All ones Rhaegar invariably allowed to happen. Why?

_I couldn't fight my father._

The lies he told himself, that he could be a dutiful Crown Prince while still caring for his realm and his family… it was all filth. _Was this the agony Daeron II endured?_ Honestly, Rhaegar found his estimation of the so-called "Good King" dying, realizing that he had endured his father neglecting the kingdoms for years and did nothing about it. _I must not let history repeat itself._

But seeing his goodfamily waiting outside the Great Hall, Rhaegar knew that he still couldn't lay a hand on his father much that he wanted to. He would need patience, and knowing that while Lya was hurt and his child was dead only stoked his tempest to an unbearable heat.

Still, he forced a facade. "Goodfather, Bran. Benjen. You were summoned too?"

"To rub our faces in it, no doubt…" Brandon held up his hands. "Yes, father. I know. Control myself."

Rickard scowled, but not at his son or goodson. "Better get these hells over with." Bearing it in stoic silence, Rhaegar wondered if Rickard would be the first one to break. _One cannot bottle it in for so long._

"You can do this, my Prince," Arthur whispered in his ear. "You carry Blackfyre. You are your family's champion, not him." Rhaegar allowed such words to carry him forward.

The five of them walked along the length of the throne room. Spotting the two whitecloaks flanking the Iron Throne - Lewyn Martell and Jonothor Darry, the two brothers of the order that weren't his loyalists. His friends.

Already, a quick peek over his shoulder found Arthur glaring daggers at them. _Even the kingsguards are choosing sides._

Atop the Iron Throne sat Aerys, glaring down smugly at his son and the Starks. Standing next to him was Queen Rhaella, trying desperately to hide her trembling nerves. Looking apologetically at Rhaegar… as was Ser Jaime. At least he had two allies.

Reaching the base of the dais, Rhaegar, Brandon, and Rickard all swallowed their pride and bent the knee, kingsguards too. Grudgingly and with great anger, but doing so nevertheless. "Your Grace," each said with bile in their mouths.

Aerys was enjoying this greatly. "Ah, my son. Welcome." He waved his hand. "Rise, your King commands it."

With a groan belying his age, Rickard rose from his knee. "For what do we owe this honor?" Rhaegar was impressed - his goodfather had learned to lay it on thick.

Glancing at his wife, who managed to give him the smallest of smiles, the King turned back to the three before him. "I called you here to offer my condolences for the injuries inflicted on Lyanna."

Brandon bit the inside of his cheek. He deliberately left his sword in his chambers for this very reason. "Thank you, your Grace," he forced himself to say.

"House Stark is grateful for your concern," Rickard replied, a much better liar. But this testing his resolve greatly.

Leaning forward, the King regarded his son. "You haven't said anything, Prince Rhaegar."

"Your condolences are most appreciated father." _You're only sorry you didn't killed her._ Rhaegar wanted to scream at his father, but instead bit it back. He could sense his mother's relief. That was worth it. "She… she has woken up and is currently able to walk without pain."

Not having known, Rhaella's eyes lit up. "That is good news, my son. Isn't it, your Grace?"

Leaning back, Aerys pursed his lips. "Aye, that is good news." He chuckled dryly. "Jenny's bewitchment was strong, but I made sure it left her."

_He made it leave her?_ The madness had taken so fully over his father and it had taken so long for him to see it. _How was I so blind?_ "I am grateful that you cared so much for my bride as to… battle the demons of our past."

"The doddering idiot," he finally continued, referring to the Grand Maester. "Told me that Lyanna was expecting a babe." He said it dispassionately, without even a shred of emotion… and yet this seemed different than his normal insults of Egg and Rhae… "I'll expect praise for killing the false dragon polluting her womb."

Inside Rhaegar a fury burned hotter than dragonfire - hotter than anything the stunned Starks could even comprehend. They had lost a granddaugther and niece respectively, but in Rhaegar he assaulted his very being. The dragon threatened to wake.

Aerys, in all of his 'wisdom,' decided to add fuel to the simmering fire. "And don't worry son, I'll make sure to find a pure, proper dragon bride for your true heir should you decide both Princesses hopeless."

Before Rhaegar could explode, a surprising intervention came at the hands of Brandon Stark. "Your Grace, I beseech you. House Stark is your loyal servant."

Momentarily distracted by his son acting smartly, Rickard shook it off and joined in. "The facts of Lyanna's… possession by evil spirits aside, she is a healthy woman for which the Grand Maester has said is capable of bearing more heirs for your line."

Nodding with a pensive look, the King turned to Rhaella. "What do you think, wife? Should I reward their begging?" It did please him.

She thought before she spoke. "Your Grace, I believe the Princesses serve you well. Breaking the marriages to Rhaegar's brides only send more kingdoms into Tywin's camp..."

Suddenly, Aerys struck Rhaella with such force as to send her to the ground. "Don't mention his fucking name in my presence!" he screeched as Jaime dashed to help the Queen up. "Get her with the rest of them, Lion," he hissed. An order Jaime was only happy to comply with.

Rhaegar took a step forward... only to still. Hating himself for not helping his mother until she arrived close to him. _A family to protect… but not from him._ A truth that had resulted in nearly destroying everything he loved. "I think mother only means that we don't want to drive the Doom upon us until we're ready to destroy the lion."

Several seconds of tension ran long, but in the end the King sighed. "You have my leave to go."

Guiding his mother out, the Starks quickly bid him farewell. Each could see the Crown Prince was close to the edge, and a silent plea from Rhaella found Rickard and Brandon leaving mother and son to dash for the Royal Quarters.

As soon as they disappeared past the doors of her chambers, both Arthur and Jaime standing guard, Rhaella opened her arms. "Oh, my son..."

_"Muna…"_ suppressed for so long, his pain suddenly left him. Rhaegar fell into his mother's embrace, softly crying. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault. Never your fault, my son…" Her heart broke for what all of them were going through. "Gods, Lya..."

"My child's mother… our babe." It tore him inside, finally able to let it out. "Lya's first, he took it from us. My own Father..." Such was the most hurtful of all.

"I know your pain, my sweetling." One child versus over half a dozen...

Rhaegar knew. He pulled away and regarded his mother with red-rimmed eyes. Sweetly kissing her brow. "And I'm very sorry you do, _muna."_

In such pain and he still made sure to care for his family. _I raised the perfect son. _"Where is Lya?"

"In our chambers. _Muna,_ I've never seen her so broken, so devoid of life..." She was his she-wolf, so passionate and fierce. All gone.

Rhaella's heart broke. "Is Elia helping her?'

"As much as she tries, Lya just doesn't respond."

"And you? How are you feeling?"

His eyes darkened. "If it weren't for the taboo of kinslaying, I would have put blackfyre through his back already. Realm be damned."

"Rhaegar, don't talk like that…" she admonished. "You can't mask your grief with anger."

"He has taken so much from us already, but this... this is the last straw." He pulled away, shaking. "Aerys took away... my child..." The dam holding it back broke again, and the Prince didn't resist his mother's comfort.

"Oh my son..." Rhaella cried softly as well, never imagining that the pain she went through would be experienced by her son and gooddaughters.

"I was going to be a father again... I loved Visenya already..."

"I loved her too, son." She could only hug him close.

* * *

Eventually Lyanna emerged from her bath, swathed in a thin silk robe. One that left very little to the imagination. It was one of hers, and while the waiting Elia knew it had been made for Rhaegar's appreciative stare she couldn't help but marvel at Lyanna's beauty. More than marvel, rather. "Lya…"

Lyanna jumped, heart beating. In her daze she hadn't noticed Elia was there. "Sister… You should have called to me."

"I felt you needed your solitude." Regarding her, the sight of her sister-wife broke Elia's heart. Lyanna was dreadfully pale, sunken eyes red with constant tears. "How are you, Lya?" But Elia held up a hand. "Don't give me the 'I'm fine' horseshit." The Dornish Princess knew her sister-wife well enough to know what she would say.

Lyanna starting to rummage for a proper dress. "How are the children? Is Egg awake from his nap?"

Elia shook her head. "Don't change the subject, Lya," she said. "Rhaegar's worried about you, your father and brothers are worried about you - Seven Hells, I'm worried about you." She fought to keep from crying as well. "You can't just try to wish this away." Lyanna said nothing, and Elia felt her irritation creep up. "It'll destroy you, trust me I know.," she said in a firm tone.

Lyanna swiveled around. "Don't, Elia," she snapped. "Don't stand here and say that you understand, because you don't!" Her fierceness returned, directed at the one person who insisted on pushing her. "I lost a babe! A babe that I loved with everything I had!"

"I know it happened to you, Lya, and it brings me physical pain to think about," Elia explained. "But it's not your fault. You're only killing yourself and everything you love by blaming yourself."

"But it is my fault!" she screamed. "I felt bored and caged, so I left Benjen and Oswell to breeze through the gardens where he…" Tears were now flowing from Lyanna's eyes and she didn't bother to wipe them away. "Aerys killed my child, and all because I couldn't fucking stay with my Kingsguards!" She sniffled as she took a breath. "And I'm sick of the platitudes… no one can understand the pain I'm going through right now."

"Do you think Rhaegar doesn't?!" Elia yelled back. "By the Seven it was his child too!" That hushed her sister-wife. "Our husband is suffering just as much as you and you are too selfish and wallowing in self-pity to see it!" Elia shouted, shaking her head as she wiped the tears from her face. "Visenya was his babe… and my babe. I loved her, Lya. I know now why you could love Rhae and Egg because I felt it with this babe. My heart broke when you lost her..." the Dornish Princess paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "As I did when I lost my second child."

Lyanna looked at her sister-wife in shock. "Elia…"

Elia held up a hand. "It was my second, after Rhaenys. Rhaegar doesn't know… I never told him. It all happened while he helped Arthur fight the Kingswood brotherhood and he was already in so much pain from everything that I didn't wish to burden him." Elia fell silent, the repressed emotions of that hellish time starting to bubble back up. "One day I felt rather happy, so I wore something that showed off my house sigil and colors that Oberyn had given me. Walking in the holdfast, I ran into Aerys. He was so enraged at the 'Dornish Smell' off me that he shoved me aside. I slipped and fell down some stairs… losing the babe." A tiny tear fell from her.

Watching her, Lyanna felt her own heart clench. Pained for her sister-wife. Worried for Rhaegar. A sudden, gradual shame...

Looking at the window, Elia sighed. "I refused to talk to anyone but Ellaria for moons, especially Rhaegar… it was only when Ellaria confronted me that I realized that I had made everything worse - hells, I hadn't visited Rhaenys once during my melancholy. I almost lost… everything..."

Biting her lip as Elia looked back at her, Lyanna gazed at the ground. "I'm sorry." The shame was overwhelming her. So consumed was she in her self-loathing, she didn't realize how it hurt those she loved. "Gods… I'm a monster…"

When Lyanna didn't say anything else, Elia strode to her and pulled her into a hug. "The only monster in this is the King." The northern beauty melted into her embrace. "Lya, I know talking about it only makes it even more real, but the only way out is to lean on family. Remember we're all suffering too. We need each other. As you say, the lone wolf dies..."

"But the pack survives…" The she-wolf was shaking right now, hating herself for being so blind. "How did you get over hating yourself?"

"It was hard, but we have it better now." Elia kissed her cheek. "If we are loved by so many, then we can't be worth hating."

So simple, and yet so profound - if Rhaegar and Elia and Rhaella and her brothers and her father loved her so, then who was she to hate herself? "I'm so sorry, Elia. I wish I'd known…" She sobbed softly. "I wish..."

"Shhh…" Her own cries came. "I know."

It was this scene Rhaegar found. His wives embracing, sobbing in each other's shoulders. Oh gods...

Lyanna looked at him and their eyes met. "Rhaegar," she whispered, trying to communicate all the guilt she felt.

Rhaegar rushed to their sides, enveloping both of them tightly. Making no distinction in love with either. "My loves…" He kissed Lyanna's forehead.

She buried her head in his chest as Elia rested on his shoulder. "We lost our child…" Lyanna murmured. He only held them tighter. For the first time since they lost their babe, the three cried together.

* * *

_...and to think that the harsh words of my goodbrother were awful enough, many of the Northern Lords have returned to Winterfell due to the chaotic aftermath of the Ironborn raids. If a Stark sworn sword is bad enough, the Umbers are basically wildlings. Yet, if I impose the discipline of chivalry Ned would have my head. It's infuriating._

There was nothing more that Petyr Baelish wanted than to hold Catelyn Tully in his arms, but Gods… sometimes she simply irritated him. _She has such moments, but at least is better than Lysa._ The younger Tully was far more shrill. At least Catelyn had promise to mature.

Outside, the freezing rain pelted Riverrun castle. No matter how he stoked the hearth, Petyr felt the drafts chilling him. So a goblet of wine and a blanket wrapped thick around him would have to do.

_I wish to believe that my goodsister the Princess would support my desires, but her wild nature leaves me to doubt this. Especially given her actions at the Tourney of Harrenhal..._

Boredom suddenly gave way to interest. Baelish sitting straighter in his chair, feeling what came next wouldn't be the usual inane drivel.

_In the capitol I came across the juiciest piece of gossip. It seems that the Knight of the Laughing Tree was really Lyanna…_

Baelish's eyes widened in shock - mind spinning at the revelation. _Lyanna Stark is the Knight of the Laughing Tree?!_ The one that the King had very publicly declared dead, executed by his son the Crown Prince at the final feast of the Tourney?

Returning to the letter with the keenest interest, Baelish found where he had left off…

_My goodbrother Eddard undoubtedly knows, and while I can't be sure I suspect both the Crown Prince and my beloved Brandon do as well. Given his Grace's interest in this to the extreme, I implore you to not repeat this, though I know that I can trust you, Petyr. To disclose this would be of great detriment to my intended's House and to the Crown Prince._

Already, his mind was spinning. Petyr Baelish didn't give two sagging tits about the Crown Prince, but the opportunity to pay the Starks back for stealing his Cat and humiliating him was just too good to pass up… The more he thought, the more he reasoned, the minor heir to the minor keep of a minor lord kept coming back to something his father said._ "Allow chaos to serve as your ladder, for it has served our family well."_

The first Baelish used the chaos of the First Blackfyre Rebellion to win his keep as a sellsword for House Corbray, winning it on Redgrass Field.

Petyr's father used the chaos of the War of the Ninepenny Kings to befriend Hoster Tully and get Petyr himself a fostership in Riverrun, where he met his beloved Cat.

Chaos served them well, and now - the newest in the line of craven mercenaries - the smiling visage of Petyr Baelish had the one bit of information that could create its own storm of chaos. Ratcheting up his family's mantra.

_Now… what to do with it…?_

**One Moon Later**

It was a quiet day in the Red Keep. Lyanna Targaryen adored the quiet days that so rarely smiled upon the capitol of Aegon the Conqueror's empire. For the little girl eager to jump on Winter and race through the Wolfswood, actually enjoying the quiet rather than seeking out adventure would have seemed impossible. For the Princess of House Targaryen she had seen the dark side of this hellish city. Any day the quiet decided to take over was a day blessed by the gods.

Sunlight streamed through the high windows installed by Aerys I. The quiet King enjoyed plenty of natural light to read by, and Lyanna had no complaints. It was serene being seated upon a plush chair reading about the history of her husband's family. A perfect blend of the old Lyanna and the new Lyanna - her love of reading intact.

A gift from Rhaegar… all of it. Her eyes fluttered shut, smiling lovingly. Gods… I'm so lucky. Aside from perhaps her father and brothers - or her adorable son Egg - there was no better man.

"Alright, Lyanna." Dropping a rather large book on the table, Dacey Mormont collapsed into a chair, huffing out a breath. "Took me half an hour to find _History of the Rhoynish Wars_, and the leather-bound monstrosity was all the way at the top of a shelf on the second floor."

Furrowing her brows, Lyanna cocked her head to the side. "What makes me think that you didn't get it down by yourself." Before Dacey could respond, a dust-covered Arthur Dayne arrived behind her, trying his best to hold in a sneeze. And failing miserably. The Princess chuckled. "The mighty Sword of the Morning reduced to little more than a librarian."

Dacey smiled softly. "Amazing what batting your eyelashes can do." She giggled when Arthur wrapped his arms around her neck.

"I think you use your wiles to get more out of me than I have propriety to do," he said, kissing her neck nonetheless.

"Mmmm… you adore me," the she-bear replied.

"Aye, that I do." Lyanna smiled at the love between her Lady in Waiting and kinggsguard. The last moon found them more in love each passing day. As Arthur's hands moved to cup her belly, it wasn't hard to know why. "Any chance the future Sword of the Morning can let his father know he's alright?"

Dacey giggled again. "I'm only two moons along, Arthur." She lightly swatted his arm at his irritated groan. In the comfort of the inner palace, away from prying eyes, they could be free to love each other openly. "Forgive us, Lyanna, but the little one here is calling on me to retire for the afternoon…"

Lyanna was caught in a tiny trance, staring at the slight swell of her friend's figure with a burning jealousy. No maliciousness, just… longing. While the wounds of her lost babe had largely healed and she had allowed Rhaegar back into their bed and her family back into her heart… they would never truly go away. Always would she mourn the babe she would never get to hold._ So will Rhaegar and Elia…_ "Go ahead," she told Dacey, smiling. "Little one comes first. Benjen can help me find my books."

"Like hells I will," the aforementioned Kingsguard shot back, only for Arthur to smack him on the back. Giving him a look belying his bad situation as he escorted Dacey out. He rolled his eyes when Lyanna stuck her tongue out at him - _aye, that's the Lyanna I grew up with._ Spotting someone enter a few moments later, he grinned. "I'll see if I can put your unused texts back." He picked up the tome, walking several paces before he bowed. "Your Grace."

Hearing him, Lyanna wanted to turn with a sudden terror before a gentle kiss was pressed on the crown of her head. Fragrance of lavender and Dornish apple relaxing her. "Elia…"

Princess Elia Martell rounded the chair to sit in the chair alongside Lyanna's, turning to face her with a smile on her face. "Why am I not surprised to find you here?"

"Meeting with Lord Tyrell finished early, so what better way to spend a quiet day?" Lyanna hefted the book. "Reading about your ancestors."

Clicking her tongue at the title, Elia grinned. "Learning of how the mighty Rhoynish defeated the vile Dragonlords outnumbered considerably?"

Lyanna smirked back. "No, at the point where Nymeria had to flee for her life like a coward." Even with her obvious teasing, her sister-wife scowled all the same. "Considering our new House, I would think you'd root for the dragonlords now."

"Please, you admire my Dornish heritage, thank you." If they hadn't been close before, the agony and apprehension following the… incident had drawn both women all the closer. The fact that such fear was for not and Aerys hadn't really left his brooding and fire contemplation for weeks didn't undo such closeness - even if sometimes Elia felt they weren't as close as she would like...

"You look like you have something to talk about." Lyanna's lovely northern accent pulled Elia out of her contemplation. "Elia… listening?"

"Oh, yes. I'm sorry." She fought a blush, hoping Lyanna didn't notice her eyes wandering places they… shouldn't. "Just thinking of something strange I saw this morning after we all parted." Rhaegar was currently with Melisandre, the Red Woman stubbornly remaining as a 'spiritual adviser' to the Prince even as Aerys dismissed the other mages and mystics. Neither Princess liked it, but they trusted him. "Rhaenys wanted Viserys to play with her today."

"He said no, didn't he?" While it bothered Rhaella the most, Lyanna noticed it. While House Targaryen seemed to grow closer after the loss of their babe, Prince Viserys was the opposite. Withdrawn, sullen. Spending most of his time by himself.

Elia nodded her head. "Even pushed her away - not violently or anything, but Rhaenys was saddened for a while." A sigh. "Do you think he's trying to be more like his father?"

"Gods, I hope not." _Poor Rhaella…_ The woman deserved much better than the King. _A certain Lannister comes to mind._ One would have to be blind not to notice.

"Speaking of the King, he has given his assent for the Royal Progress to Dorne."

"Really?" They had talked about it, but Lyanna only knew of talk. "Rhaegar approached him?"

"Aye. To ensure good relations with the Dornish after your marriage to the Crown Prince, officially at least. In reality…" Elia left it unsaid.

Lyanna bit her lip. "Your elder brother… I don't feel safe going there, knowing how he feels about me."

"You'll be under my protection, Lya." Leaning forward, Elia placed her hand on the northern beauty's leg. Her long, shapely, creamy leg… "Doran won't touch you with Rhaegar and I there." She gave her a small smile. "Hopefully he'll love you as Oberyn does."

"Aye, hopefully." After a short pause, Lyanna rose. "I have no idea where Benjen went off to, so I'll get my next book myself. Wait here, I'll be right back."

Gazing after Lyanna, Elia had that feeling again. The feelings and desires that had slowly cropped up over the time she knew the she-wolf… only to spike in intensity after their reconciliation following the incident. Eyes raking over the simple woollen dress, hugging Lyanna's curves in all the right places. Slender waist, shapely hips, an ass to die for…

_Gods, what is wrong with me?_ Here she was, married to the Valyrian god of a Crown Prince that she adored and desired, giving another woman gazes of pure lust. _If this is what Rhaegar saw at the Tourney, I don't blame him for falling for her…_ Oberyn would be laughing himself silly at this.

"I need to talk to Ellaria," she mused out loud. If anyone could help with this, it was her. Especially before they journeyed to Dorne.

Her homeland tended to… encourage the most debased of behavior.

* * *

There was no Weirwood tree…

If anything could manifest in physical form how suffocating and damaging King's Landing had been for Lyanna, this was it. I came here hoping for wonder and love… She found that, but after all that had transpired with the plots, the attacks… the death, love and wonder had transferred itself to Dragonstone. Here were the Seven Hells, and she didn't even have a heart tree to pray to - to feel close to her gods and her home.

_The old oak will have to do._

Nestled off to the sides of the gardens - out of sight and out of mind - the godswood of the Red Keep was nevertheless beautiful. Well-maintained by the royal gardeners, it bloomed lushly even during wintertime. Greens and vibrant pastels of color predominated, and it served to soothe the future Queen as she walked to the large oak tree in the center.

Kneeling down before it as taught, Lyanna removed a tiny cage from the folds of her dress. Inside was a rodent caught by one of the ratters - nothing that anyone would miss. Quickly she grabbed it out of the cage and pierced the flesh with a dagger she carried from the armory. The animal's cries died in a split second, all life leeching out of it. Wordlessly, Lyanna placed it before the tree, a small token of her devotion to the gods. No Andal that followed the Seven would truly understand, not even Rhaegar or Elia in her fears… thus, Lyanna was alone.

In a hushed whisper, she began to pray. "All-knowing lords, hear my prayer. Grant me serenity to accept the evils of this world. To accept the loss of my…" Lyanna choked up, fighting back a sob in a dire struggle. It was hard, even now long after Visenya was taken from her. No matter how happy she was in Rhaegar's arms or being with Elia, she would always mourn for the daughter she so loved. Perhaps she was here to make sense of it all… "And let my heart not be troubled. Let my womb prove fertile again and swell with my husband's children. Let my sister-wife and I forge a bond unbreakable by petty concerns, and give peace to my goodmother in her life." Prayer recited, she slowly rested her head on the bark. Hoping for some guidance… hoping that the oak would do. That the gods could hear her praye…

_Suddenly, it was as if Lyanna was frozen in place. Consumed by an intense chill that immobilised her in ice. And in an instant her consciousness seemed to leave her body. Rocketing through the air away from the still statue of the powerful, innocent princess dropped in the middle of hells._

_Her vision travelled, crossing mountains and rivers and seas… And then Lyanna stopped. Slamming into the middle of a massive blizzard. Snow up to her knees as the cold only grew. Shivering, Lyanna saw a light in the distance - it called to her, and she began running to it._

_"Lya!"_

_It came from behind. A voice… faint but vaguely female. "Hello?!"_

_"Lya…" It was frantic, fearful. Reminding her of Benjen's voice during his first freezing winter when he submerged into an icy lake. "Help me!"_

_'Run, Lyanna. Run.' Another voice, this one far more soothing. 'Leave her… she is evil.'_

_"Lya!" A shadow was struggling to reach her in the distance - away from the light._

_"Muna?" Lyanna glanced down to see a small boy with violet eyes and dark curls, no more than five namedays but clearly the one from her dreams. "Muna, I hurt…" Blood coated his furs, face pale._

_'Run… save him… leave her…' Lyanna complied with the voice. Racing towards the light. Tugging on her son to follow. 'Run… Run!'_

_"Help me! Please, Lya, my love…"_

_But the boy wouldn't run. He barely even moved. "Muna… she's calling… get muna."_

_"We have to go," Lya begged as she saw him growing weaker. Needing to find the fire and warmth…_

_Her son tore himself from her grasp. "Muna!" he cried, running through the snow towards the shadow - against the voice's advice._

_The name slipped from her mouth… "Jon! Jon, come back!" Lyanna raced after him, heart beating as he reached the shrouded figure. Praying that he wouldn't die…_

_But in the arms of the figure, both of them sobbing softly, it was as if all his injuries had healed…_

_As if all three of them were bathed in warmth…_

"Lyanna… sister!"

Waking abruptly, Lyanna looked up to see Brandon looking down at her. "How… how long was I out…"

"It's almost dinnertime."

She saw the sun having gone down just then. "Shit… I've been here hours. Rhaegar and Elia must be worried…"

He laughed. "They were, but I had a feeling you were here." Brandon helped her up. "I won't say a word, but tell me… did it help?"

Sighing, Lya looked back at the tree. "Perhaps," was her answer.

* * *

"Thank you for being able to arrive at our keep so promptly. Lord Hand."

Jon Connington forced a smile. "You're welcome, Lord Hoster." He thanked the gods for small favors that his bruises Brandon Stark gave him had healed before House Tully requested the services of someone from the Red Keep. "With his Grace the Crown Prince remaining in King's Landing, I could afford to leave and address your concerns personally." Not that I wish to meet Brandon's goodfamily. The things he had to do to please Lords Paramount.

"What got the King to put you on shit duty?" Ser Brynden Tully asked with a scowl. The one called 'Blackfish' was not known for his warmth. "Tried to kiss someone not wantin' to be kissed?"

Glaring for a moment, Connington managed not to look angry or defensive. "His Grace wishes Lords Paramount to have their concerns addressed by men he trusts." _At least Hoster buys it._ The rumors spread like wildfire, and the Blackfish believed them rather than the official explanation.

"It's a shame that her Grace, Princess Lyanna was injured. Such a beautiful girl," Hoster mused sympathetically.

"We appreciate your concern, Lord Hoster." _If only she died._

As he walked after Lord Hoster and Ser Brynden, the Hand noticed the younger Tully daughter appear from a room further ahead. Eyes cast downward as she approached them. Odd. Still, she seemed to be paying attention, for once only a few paces ahead of her father and uncle she curtsied. "Father. Uncle Brynden."

Hoster regarded his youngest warmly - truly, in spite of all her quirks little Lysa was his favorite. "Dear Lysa, you are in front of the Hand of the King. Remember your manners."

She didn't make his gaze, but curtseyed far deeper. "Lord Hand, forgive me but I did not recognize you."

Was Connington the only person that picked up on her obvious lie? _Is her family that stupid or is she a better liar than one would assume?_ Tales of Lysa Tully's shrillness and temper spread far. "It is not a problem, Lady Lysa. Your manners are as impeccable as your form."

Beaming, Lord Tully motioned towards his solar. "This way, Lord Connington." As they walked past the girl of four and ten, Connington felt a hand momentarily grasp his own… before darting away. He furrowed his brow and made to turn and look at Lysa before feeling the crinkle of parchment in his fist. In a split second, his face became a mask.

The conversation passed by as dryly as humanly possible - as always, the politics of the Riverlands was as dry and mundane as their position was vital. Half of what Hoster discussed concerned the latest feuding between the Brackens and Blackwoods over the Teats. _Are they Barba's Teats or Missy's Teats now? I don't remember._

It wasn't till two hours later that he was in the safety of his chambers that he could let his guard down. Satiate his curiosity over what the Tully girl could have wanted. Likely something stupid. While he couldn't count how many young maidens threw themselves at him - Connington being a handsome, powerful young Lord - this was a new trick.

Paper soaked with sweat, the writing was smudged but eventually Connington had a handle on it… His eyes widened and his breathing hitched.

_Lord Connington, the treasonous Knight of the Laughing Tree is Princess Lyanna Stark. Be cautious._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we have all of them healing together :)
> 
> Littlefinger you asshole!
> 
> Be sure to check out my short story "The Mystery Knight!"
> 
> Until next time! The more reviews the sooner I update :D


	37. Cabin Fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. Hope everyone is safe.
> 
> Some personal stuff is coming up for me and I'm gonna be very busy. While I plan on continuing updates (writing relaxes me), I will likely not be as active on the website for a while. Not disappearing by a longshot though.
> 
> I have decided who Jon's second bride should be. Before I reveal it, I'm opening one final bit of the discussion sections for y'all to make their comments about it. Get your input :)
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

Elia flinched at the clashing steel. Worrying for her far slighter sister-wife as compared to the stronger, more muscular form of her husband… But her worry was misplaced. Lyanna deflected the attack, leaping nimbly to the right. She twirled her blade and attacked, putting the Targaryen Prince on the defensive. "Excellent form, Princess," she heard Rhaegar say. Elia smirked. _He only calls us 'Princess' to tease._

It worked on Lyanna, the she-wolf snarling. "You won't beat me so easily this time," she hissed, furious side slashes interrupting her retort every few words. While fluid and flexible, Rhaegar was a master swordsman. Parrying each with ease - Elia knew he was better with Blackfyre than a training sword.

"Magnificent, aren't they?"

Elia's fascination with the mid-morning spar was disturbed by the rather… intense presence of the Lady Melisandre. "They are," she said, eyes narrowing. The Red Witch's small smile was not something Elia liked. "What are you doing here?"

Turning her head away from the sparring session - Rhaegar suddenly put his bulk into an aggressive lunge, pushing Lyanna back - Melisandre's red eyes now bored into Elia. "I am simply enjoying this dance of warriors. Is that not allowed?"

To most, her blood-red gaze would be intimidating. Elia was simply put off. "Is that what you're really doing, Lady Melisandre?" While unofficially the 'spiritual adviser' to the Prince, some of her behavior put her closer to 'official royal mistress.'

"The only lusts you should concern yourself with, Princess Elia, h are your own." Melisandre noticed the Lady in Waiting emerge onto the balcony. "It was lovely to be in your company this morning, Princess."

So shocked that the Red Priestess could see through her so easily that Elia didn't notice Ellaria's arrival until she was only a few paces from her. "Your Grace," she curtseyed. "You sent for me."

Elia frowned. "Cut it out."

"You're upset at me being a proper Lady?"

"I'm irritated that you're trying to tease me."

Laughing, Ellaria bumped Elia's hips with her own. "So, what did the fire bitch want?" She motioned to Melisandre, who was just leaving the balcony. "Trying to slut up Rhaegar again?"

The Dornish Princess rolled her eyes. "As if that whore stands a chance." Elia's gaze fell back on Rhaegar. Her gorgeous Valyrian warrior - his muscles straining tight against his tunic. Sweaty from constant strong assaults. Although Elia's favorite use of those muscles were to tense beneath her touch as he thrust into her…

"Maybe she's thirsting for Lyanna instead?"

Such a comment brought Elia to the other contestant. Not as refined or experienced as Rhaegar, Lyanna nevertheless possessed an innate skill with a blade - in the two moons she had been training, she improved considerably. She danced around Rhaegar, quickly darting in a slash before forced to parry. Such moves deflected by letting the brute attacks slide off her angled blade.

"I mean, who wouldn't thirst for her?" Ellaria continued in spite of Elia only half listening. Entranced with Lyanna's movements. The little strands of chestnut hair escaping her messy bun. How her buxom breasts bounced. Her pretty mouth pursing tightly. Her tunic and breeches clinging from sweat to her gorgeous figure… "She definitely has that air of someone who both swallows swords and licks rugs…"

Imagining Melisandre… pleasuring Lyanna, Elia felt a surge of… something in her. "Fucking shut it!" she hissed, honey-brown eyes narrowed in anger.

Taken aback for a moment, Ellaria raised an eyebrow. "What got you in such a mood… unless… Well fuck me blind, prim and proper Elia Martell is thirsty for the she-wolf."

"Shut it," Elia repeated, though this time she reddened.

Ellaria bit her lip, swaying her hips in triumph. "I told myself I may have been wrong after nothing happened for a damn moon, but I should've stuck to my instincts. You definitely want some northern cunt."

Elia blushed crimson… though her core grew damp at the filthy words associated with Lyanna… "I do not!" _Why am I lying?_ "I probably don't… I might…" As Lyanna swiped at Rhaegar, looking all the more striking, Elia buried her face in her hands. "I can't be sure."

Much as she liked to tease, Ellaria was a friend first. "Alright, what's going on? Spill."

Sighing, the Dornish Princess looked at her Lady in Waiting. "Well, I've been… having stirrings."

"Stirrings… Sure, I'll refer to it as such."

"I'm serious." Another sigh, this one deeper. Touching on her conflict. "Stirrings of Lyanna… impure images."

Ellaria pursed her lips. "I know you're not a damn Septa, so I think you are confused because you haven't had feelings for women before. Oh, Elia." Ellaria smiled softly. "I wouldn't worry. Not all of us grew up watching young maidens bathe with their hands up their skirts…"

"Please, Ellaria. Can you not do that." She began to imagine Lyanna doing that and it was distracting her.

"Fine… I'll be dour if you want." She looked back at the sparring royals. "I assume you still desire Rhaegar, correct?"

Elia nodded. "Absolutely."

"That simplifies things. And Rhaegar is another fine piece of flesh I'd like to wrap my lips…"

"Enough." Another glare.

"You're too easy," Ellaria laughed. "And don't worry. I think I have a way for you to determine if your feelings are real or not. All I need is your approval to set up part of our progress back home to Dorne. Namely the ship we use."

"Wait, why would you…" She was cut off as a blade clattered to the ground. A close to collapsing Rhaegar was holding a blade to Lyanna's throat.

"Yield," Rhaegar gasped out, body soaked in a sheen of sweat.

Lyanna was just as exhausted, though there was an added irritation. "I yield." Still glaring, she picked up her blade. "You cheated."

Rhaegar laughed in spite of his heavy breathing. "And how did I do that?"

"I don't know how you did, but you did." That earned another round of laughs.

Clapping, Elia looked down on both of them - the man she loved and the woman she… she could safely say she loved Lyanna too. _The degree of which is what I don't know._ "Don't be upset, Lya. You're getting better. This is the longest you've lasted against our husband."

She groaned. Downing a flagon of wine to quench her thirst. "When I defeat him legitimately, that's when I'll be happy…" She was silenced when Rhaegar pulled her in his arms, kissing her. It wasn't long till she kissed him back.

Shuddering at the sultry image, Elia turned back to her friend. "So tell me about this ship idea…"

* * *

"Gods, Rhaegar…" Lyanna hissed as she rolled her shoulder. Digesting the soreness from the several bruises upon it, stripped down to just her underclothes. "You just had to show off as a big tough dragon."

And yet it wasn't her husband she spoke to, but her reflection in the looking glass. Eying all the bruises and scratches from her strenuous spar. One in which she unleashed all her fury upon her husband… Not that she was angry with him… not really anyway. Gods, Lyanna loved him, but all she truly wished was to feel him above her. His lips worshipping her lips and skin, filling her so deliciously that it would take precious seconds for her walls to even accommodate…

Thankfully, another twinge from a dark, purple bruise - this one from a spar with Ser Oswell that she managed to win - succeeded to stop the arousal before it grew too uncomfortable. This was truly getting out of hand… _Pycelle said one more week before I could proceed into his bed._ He may as well have said one year. Huffing like a spoiled child, it didn't strike her as fair that he and Elia were sating themselves on each other while she merely had her fingers. _Perhaps that's why I've been sparring more and more._ An outlet for her frustrations.

The sound of the door being thrown open outside the bathchamber nearly made her jump. Scrambling for a non-existent blade at her hips… and only finding skin. "Seven hells," she mumbled, slowly tip-toeing to the entrance to the bedchamber. What she found made her eyes widen, but not in fear or anger.

Lips fused together in a desperate kiss, her handsome man pushed her beautiful sister-wife towards the bed. Hands roving down her dress, hiking it up as he did his best to devour her. "Fuck…" Rhaegar murmured, feeling Elia's hands going straight for his crotch. "What's gotten into you?"

Growling like a shadowcat, Elia turned them around and pushed Rhaegar onto the bed with a surprising strength. "Want you now," she snarled, immediately yanking off her dress in one fluid move - leaving her naked as her nameday. Rhaegar's eyes darkened - as did Lyanna's from her hiding place in the bathchamber. Before she could even comprehend the bronzed beauty in front of her, Rhaegar was naked too and the lovers tumbled together on the bed. Giggles and moans leaving both of them.

The wetness she had been wishing to avoid was now soaking her undergarments… making them worthless now without a good washing. When Elia - pinned on her back in the soft sheets - screamed as Rhaegar entered her in a powerful mating rut, Lyanna's fingers slipped inside to her nub. Rubbing to ease the ache.

Gasping, Elia bit down on Rhaegar's powerful shoulder. Almost breaking the skin as she grounded herself against his animalistic thrusts. Waking the dragon, he would always say, and by Mother Rhoyne she loved it all. Needed him splitting her hips open and assaulting the entrance to her womb - lamenting that his seed couldn't quicken again inside her. Elia's nails dug into is back, drawing blood.

Yet why with this virile man pounding into her with his dragon cock did Elia envision Lyanna with her - the statuesque Northern goddess straddling her face, wet cunt open for Elia's tongue to lash at it? _Oh… I'm hopeless… I love them both._ She could only have one though, and after their spar Elia simply cornered Rhaegar in the halls and dragged him to their chambers at the smirks of Benjen and Barristan. "More!"

"Take it, Dornish whore," he grunted.

When he was in this mood, each woman both swooned and moaned. "Yes! I'm your Dornish whore!" The way she mewled, the filthy things whispered into Rhaegar's ear, she was closer to that than any highborn should have been. Elia couldn't give two fucks.

Lyanna found herself unable to stop, to resist. Northern modesty in sexual situations were pushed aside in her torrid marital life with Rhaegar… now they simply evaporated at the scene before her. Rhaegar's muscular back and ass as he fucked Elia. Her beautiful face thrown back, open in a silent scream from the frantic assault on her cunt. Their shared climaxes joined a split-second later by Lyanna, her juices running down her bare legs. _Oh Elia…_ Lyanna blinked, wondering why it was her that came into her mental sigh. Looking back, only being transfixed by both their beautiful bodies.

The two of them passed out exhausted, Lyanna managed to creep by them and slip out. Her head falling against the wall once she was out. _Oh fuck…_ At this point, her mind was done trying to realize which one of them aroused her more._ One week can't come soon enough._

* * *

Castle Darry was rather… drab for the Riverlands. Not that Jon Connington really cared. There was more to life than opulence, but at this point he could have accepted opulence as a distraction. _The stewards in Dornish castles could have a gorgeous pleasure servant in your chambers at the drop of a hat_ \- of both sexes. He truly didn't mind the Dornish. It was the Martells that he hated.

Pacing about, he continued to digest what Lysa Tully had given him. Why did she give it to him. Who put her up to it… _because she isn't smart enough to plot something on her own…_

The more he thought about it, if Lysa Tully of all people had done the deed, then there wasn't much plotting behind it. "Who the fuck would use her?" he said to an empty room. No, the question was instead what to do with the information given to him. Because there was no earthly way that he wouldn't use this fact.

As soon as Aerys found out, the Starks were as good as gone. Executed behind the more likely avenue… While Connington would enjoy Rickard and his brood killed at order of the King, he'd be better seen by Rhaegar at his love spared. Perhaps exile, or he could pawn Lyanna off to Robert Baratheon and earn that oaf's loyalty. So many possibilities…

_But I can't go after the Starks immediately._ Regardless of the veracity of Lyanna Stark being the Knight of the Laughing Tree, he couldn't bring it to Aerys until Rhaegar was gone. Until the Starks had no one defending them in the capitol. That meant heads would have to roll, secretly. Ones that Connington could not trust in any circumstances.

At that moment the door to his room opened abruptly - not even a knock. Connington was about to scream at his bannermen not to disturb him when instead he saw Willam Darry emerge. One of the few men Connington trusted at this point, the older knight having been the one that trained him and Rhaegar in the Red Keep in the carefree days of their youth. "You found it?"

Darry smirked, motioning to one of his men to bring the a large bundle covered in a tarp forward. Placing it on the oaken table in the middle of the chamber. "Good idea to come here, no one would find it odd that I'm in my family's castle… or that I went out for a ride on this fine day. Wasn't too hard to find this." He pulled back the tarp, revealing a shield. Emblazoned with a laughing weirwood.

Connington had been there that day. He recognized it. "Where was this found?"

"In an abandoned cottage. With this." Smirking, Darry fished it out of his pocket. A slip of cloth… torn from a dress or something. Handing it to Connington.

Stitched into it was a small direwolf head… the symbol of House Stark of Winterfell. Connington couldn't help but smile. "I love it when I win."

"How do you wish to proceed, Lord Hand.?"

"We mustn't rush this. Some might have to… depart us before our opportunity comes." He fiddled with the cloth, picturing Rickard's face when he was stripped of his title as Warden of the North. "Then it's only the Martells we have to worry about." _One bitch down, one to go._

* * *

The winds were powerful that day. Strong against the shoreline while failing to churn the waves of the northern Sunset Sea into the churning cauldron often seen on the frigid waters on the other side of the continent. Perfect for the sail, for the oceangoer for the reavers and raiders that felt more at home in the salt-spray gales than any pile of dirt the greenlanders called home.

For those that lived on the seas, there was no fear of them. For that was where their god and protector dwelled… of this the commander of the flotilla of ships understood the most of all. "My Lord, trails of smoke just beyond that point." Eyes narrowed in the direction his captain was pointing. "Shall we prepare for battle?"

Fully armored with plate stolen from a Westerman knight that now slept with the Drowned God, Victarion Greyjoy - second son of Lord Quellon Greyjoy and Commodore of the Iron Fleet - nodded grimly. His face pressed in a bitter scowl, his trademark for most instances after losing the melee at Harrenhal to that golden cunt Jaime Lannister, he smacked his armored palm on the railing of the ship. "Full ahead. We reave, burn, and leave."

"My Lord?"

"You fuckin' heard me." Victarion wanted something far more powerful to sate his bloodlust - nothing but the Iron Price for him, not like his torpid older brother or… rather frightening ameteur necromancer of a younger brother - but orders were still orders. _Greenlanders better pay big for this._ "In and out, before the castle guard can respond." In all fairness, it was the Ironborn's best tactic following Black Harren getting his ass handed to him by Aegon Targaryen.

The captain shrugged and gestured to his signaller. Pressing a horn to his lips, it wasn't long before it boomed across the waters off Flint's Finger. Calling the rest of the ships into battle formation. Nestled on a small outcrop jutting into Blazewater Bay, Flinttown rested on the tip of the… finger while the keep itself guarded the landward side. Perfect to withstand the land sieges of House Stark back during the time of the petty Kings, but not enough to stop a determined ironborn attack.

And that was what Victarion planned to do. Allowing himself a tiny grin, he raised his massive battle axe, clutched tightly in his lobster-plated gauntlet. The entire ship of reavers and sailors quieting down at the sight of him. "Men! Are you ready for the Iron Way!"

"YAAAAHOOO!" they chanted, smacking their short swords and axes against their shields. Beards and hair wet with sea spray as the great carrack_ Iron Victory_ pitched in the waves off the northern coastline.

"Ready to make these northern cunts pay the Iron Price?!"

"YAAAAHOOO!"

He laughed, a baying more suited to the hyenas of Rhoyne rather than a proper kraken, but he didn't care. "What is dead may never die!"

"WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER DIE!" As the men cheered, Iron Victory angled directly for the unsuspecting northerners, each of the other carracks, caravels, and longships following. This will be just too easy.

* * *

Letting the scroll fall from his hands, Eddard Stark felt sick. "How bad was the damage?"

"Half of Flinttown destroyed, my Lord," winced Jorah Mormont, equally as grim and angry. "Bout fifty dead before the castle guard drove the Ironborn away. Double that injured by either blade or flame." Another wince. "A score taken as salt wives."

"Salt wives," Ned wanted to bang his head on the table. "Fucking salt wives." Effectively kidnapped and raped breeding animals, bringing new blood to the Iron Islands since few were willing to actually go to those shit-stained rocks.

Roose Bolton crossed his arms, the only other person of Ned's war council that knew of the coming plans - Howland having been sent to oversee the restoration of Moat Cailin as a keep that could hold their bannermen for a long wait. "We need to call the full banners now. Not just yours, Lord Stark."

"Such a move would be spotted easily."

"Not if we make a public announcement that we are marching to our shores," Jorah countered. "Our lands are massive. Movements of our forces to Moat Cailin can be easily concealed."

Looking at Roose - much as he didn't trust the man, Ned had to admit that the milky-eyed stare concealed a sharp mind for battle - Ned waited for his answer. "The King's eyes and ears are Lord Varys. He fights for the Prince, no?" came the droll, emotionless reply.

That was a decisive point. "Alright, my Lords. Give the orders and call the banners. I'll send note to my father to inform the King of this - no one likes the Ironborn so he might just congratulate us for taking care of that festering sore." There was a knock at the door. "Enter."

Lady Catelyn made her way into the solar. Curtseying. "My Lords." Her tone was guarded, cold. "You sent for me, Lord Stark?"

Ned sighed. "Aye. My Lords, a moment with my future goodsister." Jorah and Roose Bolton both bowed and left, though Ned didn't notice the small smile the latter gave Catelyn. "Aye, I did send for you."

"How may I be of service?" Ever since the confrontation a moon before, the two had lost whatever warmth or friendliness had been between them. Catelyn had stopped trying to enforce the rules of the Seven, but the tension still remained between her cohort of Riverlanders and the Northern guards and servants - even stooping to several fights between the guardsmen that Ned cracked down on hard, which earned more disapproval from Catelyn. _Gods help you, Bran._ Not once did he imagine Cersei here with him, actually standing united as they planned the boldest move by House Stark since the Dance.

Matters of duty came before personal feelings. "Yes, as you may know the Ironborn have attacked Flint's Finger."

"I am aware, my Lord."

"Good. I believe it would be wise of you to write your father, Lord Hoster, to call the banners of the western Riverlands houses, just in case the Ironborn attack there." _And to be ready to support Rhaegar._ He wouldn't tell Catelyn that, though.

A thought made him wish to write Lord Tywin as well, but he was sure the Lion was smart enough to pay attention. That and he was craven in that regard.

Lips flat, Catelyn merely curtseyed. "I will have that done before nightfall, my Lord." And she merely left, nary another word.

Not willing to let her give him more grief, Ned opened the last letter on his desk. Eyes widening as he noticed Rickard Stark's personal seal. "Idiot," he chastised himself for not seeing it earlier.

The ravenscroll was classically his father, namely short, curt, and without the splashes of humor that Lyanna or Bran would place within - much like Ned himself. He didn't even bother asking how Ned was or divulged his constitution, which was an assurance that he both trusted Ned and was alright. What didn't need to be said wasn't said.

_My son,_

_The Ironborn have attacked us as Lord Flint has sent me notification. However, the tendrils of the kraken are merely puppet strings at this point. I know not who the puppetmaster is, though I have theories._

_You must be vigilant. The Ironborn will act in the interest of this puppetmaster, and I believe that they will do damage to the North. Therefore, construct a northern fleet on the Sunset Sea out of reach of their tentacles._

_Lord Rickard Stark._

_Master of Laws._

Rickard's trust in Ned would be validated, he assured himself. "Jory," he said to his squire, a gangly boy of about ten and two namedays. "Bring back Lord Mormont and Lord Bolton to my solar. I have something to discuss with them." Lyanna being the Princess painted a target on their backs. Even as the coup prepared itself, House Stark would have to look long term if it were to survive.

* * *

"Brandon Stark… I'd recognize that face anywhere."

Hearing his name called, the heir to Winterfell looked to his left to see a dashing knight with a mane of golden hair cascading down his shoulders. "Now, I can't place that face, but I can guess you are a Lannister."

Laughing, the knight pounded Brandon's back. "That's not hard to figure out, but I like the way you put it. I can tell you're a fun lad." He stuck out his hand for Bran to shake. "Gerion Lannister. The youngest and most handsome of the Lannister brothers. When they talk about how striking my nephew is… he got it from me."

Brandon chuckled. "I can see that." Inwardly, he groaned a bit. Here he was to get a drink far from the Red Keep and away from those who recognized him - drown his sorrows - and he just had to run into a lion of Casterly Rock. _Just my luck._ At least this one wasn't a tightass.

Tapping the counter, he waved over the barmaid. "I'll have what he's having, and then bring another round. This man looks like he needs to drink himself dead." A grin formed, eying the attractive barmaid. "I, on the other hand, will be very much alive at the end of the night." The girl, rather slender and cute, giggled at the attention before dashing off. "Gods, it's good to be unattached, no?"

"I…" He barely spoke before the barmaid returned, clinking the wooden mugs on the countertop.

Gerion grabbed his and gestured for Bran to do the same. "To the world!" He tipped back, guzzling half the ale. "Ah…" the youngest of Tytos Lannister's brood belched. "Northern ale is better."

A smile stretched on Brandon's face. "I know, fuck. The capitol can't find a good ale." He was liking this man better and better. "So, Gerion, what rung do you have in the Lannister ranks?"

"Nothing close to being a Kingsguard like your youngest brother, that belongs to Jaime… I'm just the black sheep. A dashing adventurer in a family of tightasses." His emerald eyes twinkled. "You know, I'm the one that started the rumor of my brother shitting gold."

"No."

"Aye. A nugget plopped in his chamber pot for the servants to find, and the next day it reaches the ear of the King. Gods, my best prank." The two of them shared a guffaw. "I'm telling you cause I can tell you appreciate a good jape, Brandon."

One round became two that became four. "Now… I envy you, Gerion." Brandon swayed tipsily on his stool. "You, Oberyn Martell. You travel the world with nothing but grit and pluck - me, I have to take over Winterfell for my father."

"Me, I could never do what my brother does. Too much gloom and backstabbing for me - only backstabbing I can see myself doing is on a battlefield against Lysene pirates." Gerion smacked his chest. "That's why I'm going to Valyria, to find Brightroar."

Brandon looked at him with glassy shock. "You'll die in the smoking sea."

He shrugged. "Probably, but what's a life for an adventurer if you don't try for the big prize? My brother wouldn't understand, which is why he told me that if I wanted to go on this quest, I wouldn't be doing it on House Lannister's stag. Hence me being here."

"My brother wouldn't understand that kind of thing at all…" Brandon looked at the counter. "He'd make a better Lord than me, that's for sure."

There was a silence. "Oh, Bran." Gerion patted his shoulder. _Any man that can tame my niece deserves to be Lord Paramount._ "You've only known me for a bit, but let me give you some advice. You can want something and do it. You can not want something and still do it. But if you have to force yourself to want something, then it's not for you."

Brandon nodded. "That's apt… really… apt…" He slumped on the counter, passed out.

Waving over the Stark guards, Gerion covered his bar tab as the two of them hauled their unconscious heir out of the tavern. Finding the barmaid batting her eyelashes at him from the back door, Gerion grinned and followed. It would probably be his last roll in the hay till he reached Volantis - best enjoy it.

* * *

"Come on, Lya, it's nothing to be scared about."

"You've been on boats before. Stop with the dramatics."

Glaring for a moment at her husband and sister-wife, Lyanna huffed. "Yes, but those were both small voyages to Dragonstone and back." She reluctantly climbed aboard the gangplank that would bring her aboard the large carrack proudly bearing the Targaryen Three-Headed Dragon - the only thing that gave her any comfort. "I didn't get a sea malady those times and you know it."

Rhaegar bit his lip to hold back his chuckles. His bride was in a mood and even the mighty dragon knew not to piss off a moody she-wolf. "The waters of Blackwater Bay are quite choppy, my love. It stands to reason you don't have a tendency to sea malady."

"Yes," she countered. "But the first time I was on Milk of the Poppy most of the way and the second time I was…" Lyanna blushed, mindful of her and Elia's retinue hustling the children ahead of her. "Wrapped up in activities."

Elia giggled. "Ah yes, Rhaegar's vaunted activities. He can easily make you forget you're even on a boat." She shook her head as her husband stood ever so taller, puffing out his chest in a very masculine pride. "And make you sleep like a babe afterwards." Even put off by his smugness, Elia leaned up to kiss his cheek once they stepped aboard the ship.

Lyanna could only agree, giggling herself. "Oh yes, my handsome husband." She kissed his cheek too, but moved to his ear. "And strong, caring lover." The she-wolf playfully nibbled his earlobe.

"Enough, there are children present," he scolded, nevertheless adoring the attention. _If Lyanna Stark and Elia Martell are happily married to me, then I've done something fucking right._

Already their household guards and servants had loaded the baggage aboard ship, along with the currently restive Winter and Moondancer. Sailors clearly having a rough time trying to get them in the hold. Especially Winter, who was as stubborn as an irritated donkey for some reason. "Come on, ya' mangy bugger!" shouted one of the sailors. Moondancer neighed, knocking him away with a nudge of the snout.

"Looks like someone is gonna have to help them with that," Lyanna laughed, walking over to the horses.

Both Rhaegar and Elia watched her with interest as she soothed the agitated horses. "Gods, she's one of a kind," the Prince said, love in his voice.

"Yes," Elia murmured, biting her lip at how graceful and commanding Lyanna was. "There is no other like her." A fire in her loins, the Dornish Princess hoped Ellaria's plan would work.

The Captain was a jovial fellow with olive eyes and a dark complexion. Eager for the honor of bearing the Crown Prince's family, normally instead running trade and diplomatic errands to Braavos or Pentos. "Just a little further, your Graces." They squeezed past roustabouts moving provisions in large sacks. "Don't mind them."

Elia didn't, her stomach a churning cauldron as they stepped closer to their quarters. "I think I know why Winter is so difficult."

Thankfully, Lyanna's voice managed to distract her. "Oh, why is that?"

"She's carrying a foal."

Rhaegar clicked his tongue. "Three guesses who managed that." His sentiment was correct. Only one horse was allowed near Winter in the stables… and he made sure no other stallion approached him. "Moondancer was pretty protective of her."

"Aye, protecting the little one." Lyanna sighed, clearly melancholic about their lost babe. "A horse holds its foal for twelve moons, so I was thinking of giving it to Rhaenys, so she can learn to ride."

"An amazing idea, Lya," Elia beamed, only to lean into Rhaegar's ear. "Perhaps this is a sign."

"Of what?"

She kissed his ear gently. "To try again… with Lyanna." Her husband didn't reply, expression brooding again. _This'll be harder than I thought._

Wooden deck groaning underneath them as the ship bobbed gently in the harbor's waters, the Captain suddenly made a stop. "Here we are, your Graces. Your cabin."

Lyanna furrowed her brows. "One cabin?"

"Aye" He opened the door, showing off their accommodations for the journey to Dorne. "Roomiest one aboard ship, though can't compare to the Red Keep, your Graces." He was correct - it was generally cramped for land purposes, the size of Lyanna's childhood chambers rather than the massive chambers she had grown used to as a Princess. A bearskin rug and colorful curtains gave it a more lived-in feel, but in the middle…

"There's only one bed…" she murmured. Rhaegar looked confused behind her, while Elia stayed silent. Recognizing Ellaria's not so subtle plans.

The captain looked equally confused. "Aye, one bed. As your household ordered. The chambers could only hold more if I put in bunks, but the Prince and Princesses deserve better." He smiled. "Besides, I follow R'hillor, not the Faith. I don't hold any judgements." Wiggling his eyebrows with an obvious grin, he wandered off, leaving the three royals to deal with the aftermath.

Hours later, sun having descended underneath the horizon, Elia sat at the rather small vanity. Brushing her ink-black hair till it fell in lustrous waves down her neck and shoulders. Every now and again, she glanced back at her sister-wife resting on the bed. Lyanna was normally quite loud even cooped up in a bedchamber, but now she simply sat quietly. We haven't shared a bedchamber together since Rhaenys stopped having nightmares… The fact she was… disquieted about it either was a really good or really bad sign.

Through all of this, the woolen nightdress she had donned covered up her curves, but left sleeves bare and a tantalizing display of cleavage that almost made Elia's mouth water. _Mayhaps Ellaria was right after all…_

Her thoughts and Lyanna's silence were interrupted when Rhaegar reentered the room. Dressed down in tunic and sleeping trousers. "The children are sleeping… though Rhaenys could be up again." He smiled. "She wants to see dolphins on the prow of the ship."

That brought a smile to Elia's face, and a small one to Lyanna's. "Rhaenys is excited overall to see the land of her Muna… at least one of them for now. The North comes next," she added for Lya's benefit.

The northern beauty appreciated it. "I'm sure she'll adore both." Lyanna bit her lip. "So… the sleeping arrangements…"

Rhaegar rubber the back of his neck while Elia blushed. _Right to it, then._ "This shouldn't be too awkward." She tried to put on a cheery smile. "We've all shared a bed before."

"Yes," Rhaegar noted, "But that was with little Rhaenys, and I was hoping…" As he looked in between his brides, Elia wanted to giggle at how obvious he was being. "But it's fine. You can share the bed. I can… sleep on the floor."

Elia stood, heart beating. "That won't be necessary." Approaching him sultrily, she was nervous until she saw a bulge in his trousers. "You've been a wonderful husband to us - you deserve a reward." She delighted in his hiss when she cupped his cock over his trousers.

Jaw dropping slightly, Lyanna watched with wide eyes as Elia enveloped their husband in a hungry kiss. Dornish blood notwithstanding, Elia was never this brazen when she was in the room. She tried to say something, that she wasn't comfortable with this… but nothing came out.

It turned out to be Rhaegar who first spoke. "My love… what are you doing?" He wasn't accusatory, nor did he push her away. Rhaegar's voice was halting, filled with desire. The dragon begging to be awoken.

Pulling back, Elia's hesitance suddenly left. Was this how Oberyn felt? Ellaria? No inhibition, just a pure lust? "You think too much, my Prince." An urge to dominate filled her. While she normally liked to be dominated, Elia rather liked this feeling from time to time. Even if this wouldn't work, there would be plenty of pleasure involved for all three of them.

"Elia…"

"No, let's make the best of this." She pushed him onto the bed, climbing right after him. Straddling his hips and placing her hands on the hem of his tunic. "We're here, so we shouldn't deny ourselves… unless Lyanna has a problem?"

The seductress before her was now giving her completely innocent eyes. Brain mush as she tried to piece what was going on. Oh, Lyanna knew in the abstract - Ellaria's antics and the implication of the Aegon the Conqueror style marriage certainly said that this was possible… but for it to happen before her eyes...

Elia grew elated when Lyanna merely nodded. "Are you sure?"

"Don't stop on my account," Lyanna all but croaked, rubbing her legs together.

At her approval, things progressed quickly, especially for someone only watching an act she had only participated in before. The addictive sight of her husband stretched bare on the bed was quite pleasing… But Lyanna's mouth went dry at Elia's slim waist bare to her gaze. From the golden skin to the pert breasts capped with brown nipples - sultry smile framed by her black locks… she was a beautiful.

Elia was so wet from her imagination of this moment that Rhaegar's wonderful touch already had her humming. "Mmmm, husband." He seemed in a trance, taken by her beauty and by the situation. _I know you fantasized about this too, Rhaegar._ Moaning, she brought his hands from her waist to her breasts, gasping at the touch.

"You're perfect," he managed to husk, finding her cunt lined up for him. "Fuck…" his head fell on the pillow as he thrust into her.

Lyanna's glassing over and watching her husband be ridden by her sister-wife. This was easily the filthiest thing she had ever done, dark grey eyes waking over his tensing muscles, his thrusting cock… her breasts bouncing from the frantic fucking, Elia's mouth gaping open at the pleasure Lyanna knew Rhaegar must have been giving her. How the fuck is this so sexy… It took everything in her not to slide her fingers down and pleasure herself.

For the husband and wife locked in a tight lover's embrace, they knew they wouldn't last long - awkwardness transformed into a mind-blowing lust. Rhaegar angled his hips and rocketed upwards, meeting Elia's frantic impaling on his cock in a way that made her scream - the heavy breathing… hells, the presence of Lyanna watching them riveted only heightening their lust.

Lips quivering as she neared her finish, Elia doubled her movements. Legs aching to take him deeper and deeper. The tip of his cock hitting her wombhead._ Fuck… fuck… fuck…_ Right at the edge, her eyes fluttered open and she found Lyanna's stormy gaze locked on her. Lower lip sucked in between her teeth as her hips and legs writhed in discomfort. A hand almost unknowingly playing with her breast underneath the nightgown…

At that moment, Elia knew. It all became clear as day - her reservations disintegrating. She felt something for Lyanna… she lusted for Lyanna… Hells, perhaps she even loved her the same way as she loved her husband… Revelation hitting her just as she met another one of Rhaegar's thrusts, his fingers pinching a nipple, she simply shattered. Screaming her climax as she fell upon Rhaegar, kissing him hungrily.

"My love…" Rhaegar looked at her expectantly. "I haven't…"

Some sense coming to her, Elia grinned. "I love you, husband, but you have another wife to fuck." She licked his ear, almost giggling throatily. "A wife to breed again."

She saw it in his eyes. Something snapping, the violet turning almost black. Elia suddenly felt wet again._ I've woken the dragon… oh how lovely!_ A split second passed before a surprised yelp came from Lyanna, Rhaegar rolling right atop of her and ripping her gown off. "I liked that…"

Cutting her off with a kiss, Rhaegar wasted no time as he entered her roughly. He attacked her neck as his rock-hard cock threatened to split the she-wolf open.

Lyanna's fingers dug into his back. Struggling to meet him as Rhaegar pounded into her. She wrapped her legs around him, begging her dragon to take her deeper.

Elia plunged two fingers into her cunt, moaning as she cared not whether her husband or sister-wife saw. Wishing she could join in, but knowing not to overwhelm Lyanna. _Gods… Ellaria was right…_ Why had she wasted the last two moons not worshipping the god and goddess she had wed before gods and men. _Oh… I am a Targaryen now… fuck her Rhaegar. Fuck her hard._ A moan left her lips as the Prince began slamming hard and deep.

Head thrown back, Lyanna screamed. The entire boat seemed to rock with Rhaegar's thrusts. Her husband's grunts told her he was close, and so was she.

Suddenly, she heard a muffled voice. "Llll… Lllli…." Tilting her head to the side, forcing her eyes open, Lyanna found Elia close to shattering again. It was supposed to be repulsive to her, but Lyanna couldn't tear herself away.

"Elia…"

"Lya…" Her fingers reached out, weaving with Lyanna's as the she-wolf gasped. The dragon erupting.

"Elia!"

"Lya!"

"Rhaegar!"

"Fuck!"

"My loves…" And bliss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there you go. Still a little bit to go but the triad is forming :D
> 
> Lyanna and Elia really are thirsty, and is this the chapter where Jon is conceived? ;)
> 
> Until next time, where we see our trio in Dorne. Given my personal life, I may not be able to update for a while. If I get at least 35 reviews, I'll make sure to update by early next week :)


	38. Water Gardens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. Weekly update out. Hope y'all are doing well.
> 
> As promised, I can say that after months of deliberation I have decided that the MFS version of Sansa will be Jon's second bride alongside Dany for when the story gets to that point. I know, I know, after season 8 she isn't a favorite among the Jonerys fandom, but partly because this story was initiated to get out of my comfort zone and the zone of normal archetypes was in the reason of my decision. Plus... I've always liked Sansa's organic character and the potential arc she had to be a devoted member of the Targaryen-Stark family rather than letting Dan Weiss write himself in her skin. I suppose this is my attempt to detoxify season 8 further.
> 
> Plus like Jon and Dany, the altered circumstances will change Sansa too in directions that fans of both Jonerys and Jonsa (ie, those who don't hate Dany or the Sansa not contaminated with Dan weiss' personality, cause let's face it, season 8 fucked all of the characters) will adore. Trust me, you'll love what's coming :)
> 
> Be sure to let me know what you think. Civil comments please, and I'll be happy to discuss my reasoning further in the comments.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

What Elia Martell loved most about the Water Gardens was how egalitarian it was. Constructed by Maron Martell in an effort to woo the affections of his Targaryen bride - it didn't work as Princess Daenerys never ceased loving Daemon Blackfyre - subsequent Martells opened up much of it to noble and smallfolk alike. As such, the pools, gardens, and shops were always quite busy. Ellaria and most of her personal servants had all started out as childhood friendships born in the Water Gardens.

While Elia wouldn't trade such memories for the world, she did appreciate the private sanctum. One only allowed for the Dornish nobility… quite deserted at the moment. This she thanked the gods for. There was no circumstance where she would want any other wandering eye gazing at what she watched with barely repressed want.

Water rolling down her perfect, athletic curves, Lyanna emerged from the pool. "Gods, this place is amazing." She flipped her wet hair over her shoulder, looking back at her sister-wife with a grin. "We need a pool built on Dragonstone." Without waiting for an answer, she raced off towards the deeper end.

Eyes unable to leave Lyanna's nubile body, Elia didn't notice the other woman swimming up behind her. "That is the reason I love this place." Swimming in the Water Gardens was in the nude - Elia and Ellaria were both bare to the world, and so was Lyanna.

Climbing up an outcropping of rocks, the she-wolf stretched out. Exposing her entire body to the two Dornishwomen and several female servants - all of whom gazed hungrily. Elia wanted to wring their eyes out. "Stop gawking at her. You aren't a starving dog."

"But you seem to be." Laughing, Ellaria whistled as Lyanna took a dive. A… rather perfect one into the crystal clear water. "I still can't believe you fucked Rhaegar in front of her."

"You told me to."

"I never thought you'd do it… but good for you, Princess." Under the surface, the bastard Lady smacked Elia's ass playfully. "I can tell you love her. Claim her… before it's too late." Before Elia could respond, Ellaria breaststroked away. _I wonder how we ever became friends…_

"Wonder how who could be friends?"

Blinking, Elia saw Lyanna's beautiful face right across from her. "I really have to improve my senses. You're the second person to sneak up on me, Lya."

The wolf of Winterfell smirked. One that Elia almost thought was carnal... "I wouldn't beat yourself up about it. Wolves know how to stalk their prey."

"I've been meaning to ask, how can someone raised in the middle of the North know how to swim with such grace?" Gods, she wanted to kiss those lips - but was unable to.

Teasing her further, Lyanna motioned for Elia to follow her out of the pool. "There are lakes and pools in the North, as well as a pretty large river. One day I will show you the beauty of it all, sister."

Servants handing them bath towels to rub themselves dry, Elia smiled warmly. "Minus the cold, I truly would love to see the land that raised you." Returning the smile, Lyanna leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. Elia was glad she was ahead of her, given the blush. "I believe it's time to meet our husband."

"Why do you think I only left the pool now?" Lyanna called out over her shoulder. Smirking at her cheery laugh, Elia jogged after her sister-wife. Overjoyed at seeing her so carefree again.

Unlike the pools, the hallways were filled with courtiers. Men and women, often chatting together lively - or engaged in simple acts of passion. All stilled as the royals passed. Smiles given to Elia and… in general dark scowls at the Stark princess. Most withered away at the almost dragon-like glare Elia gave them. _You fucking bastards… I should take your heads._

Their arrival at Sunspear only a week ago had been… tense. It was clear that the Dornish court hadn't warmed up to them as Oberyn had, but no one said anything overt. Not that either of the royals let it get to them. Rhaegar was a Targaryen and Elia had grown in this world, but Lyanna took it with a particular grace. Fierce, determined… confident.

Elia knew it had to do with their… glorious nights. Every spare moment on the ship was spent in their cabin, Rhaegar fucking both of them into oblivion. What should have exhausted any mere man only awakened the dragon, and both Princesses loved it. Watching Lyanna's ass underneath her thin silk robe, Elia only wished that they could make that final step. Put aside whatever awkwardness and tension remained and simply love each other as… well, Targaryens. _It's up to her. I won't push…_ But when Lyanna looked like that, seven hells it was hard.

At least they had Rhaegar… and Elia wasn't complaining. Heat close to unbearable even in the winter, both he and Oberyn - his sparring partner - were shirtless as they dueled. Actual blades, not training weapons. It added a proper flair… and danger. They both raked over Rhaegar's muscular body as did most women and men in proximity.

"Is it strange that I'm more hungry for him than usual?"

"In the Water Gardens? No, more bastards are quickened here than anywhere else in Westeros." At least that was what Oberyn once bragged to her.

Blackfyre glinted in the noonday sun. Rhaegar's wrists twisted quickly to block the determined counterstrikes from the Red Viper. Shirtless himself, Oberyn blocked the Targaryen Prince's hacks and thrusts as he himself thrust forth with his spear. Very nearly cutting skin. "Yield," he hissed.

Rhaegar answered with a smirk, parrying another thrust. "Baelor the Blessed I am not." He used Oberyn's twirl to charge, forcing the Dornish Prince on the defensive.

"He's all ours, Lya."

"Mmmmm… that he is."

Beside them, Ser Barristan watched with crossed arms. "They've been at this for twenty minutes, your Graces." Each had to be close to exhaustion.

Sure enough, another minute of strikes blocked or dodged… not an easy feat, both Princes simply withdrew from mutual consent. "Let's just call this a draw," mumbled Oberyn, panting.

Wiping a sheen of sweat from his face with a proffered towel, Rhaegar nodded. "Aye, draw. Good job, goodbrother."

"Couldn't let a Targaryen finally defeat a Martell, eh?" Wanting to shoot back another jape, Oberyn's eyes darted by chance on the balcony above. Finding a striking face framed by wet hair clinging to it.

"Care to try a game of cyvasse?" Rhaegar asked. "Pass the time till I meet with Doran?"

Normally up for it, Oberyn shook his head. "Another time, my Prince. I have something to attend to." With that, he bounded towards the palace itself.

Rhaegar watched him leave. "Will do." Shrugging, nothing now kept him from showering his brides with affection. "Enjoying yourselves?" he asked, lifting them both and kissing their noses and cheeks.

Lyanna giggled at the contact. "Very much so. The heat can go fuck itself, but I'm happy."

Their husband setting them down, Elia smiled. "Dorne is like that. Very free and liberating in a way." _That doesn't make it less deadly._ But she and Rhaegar wouldn't heap that on Lyanna - after the loss of the babe, she deserved the happiness. "Lya… I think you should skip our meeting with my brother."

Her happiness changed to a guarded confusion, brow rising. "I am the Princess too, no? I should be there."

"Lya…" Rhaegar began, pausing for a moment as her gaze shifted to him. "It's not that you can't hold your own, but your presence will be… antagonistic to Prince Doran." There was no better way to put it. "I…"

He was cut off as a giggling mass of black curls slammed into him. _"Kepa! Muna! Muna!"_ Rhaenys was excited once more, the same carefree attitude of the place rubbing off on her. "Obara is showing me how to fight."

An overprotective trio of stares found the older child. "Just playing with staffs, nothing to worry about."

_"Muna!_ Come watch us. Please please please!"

Seeing both her spouses' eyes directed at her, Lyanna sighed. "Alright, come on." She took Rhaenys' hand. "Perhaps I'll even teach you some moves, Obara." Unlike most in the Dornish court, Obara looked genuinely thrilled at such attention from Princess Lyanna.

"Ellaria!" the Prince called through the halls. "Ellaria, wait!"

Groaning, she turned. "What?" she spat out, irritated.

"Why are you avoiding me?"

"You know very well why."

"I don't, please enlighten me."

She sighed. "We had a good time together in King's Landing, but it's ended."

He shook his head. "It was more than that and you know it."

"I'm not a person capable of settling down."

"Neither am I, yet here we are."

The argument continued through the halls. Ellaria tried to push him away and Oberyn refused to give up too easily. It brought them towards the guest quarters, voices loud until one silenced the other with a kiss. The kiss deepened, clothes already ripped off as they both groped their way inside. Anger turned to joyous laughter, both falling onto Ellaria's bed without a care in the world.

* * *

"Get up, Stark. I don't have all fuckin' day!"

Rickard fought from flinching as the King shouted. "Forgive me, your Grace," he murmured.

"I can't hear you!" Aerys' eyes began to blaze a bright violet. "Speak louder or I'll make it that you can't speak again."

Without Rhaegar there to truly shield him, Rickard knew his family was at the mercy of the King's mercurial moods. After what he did to Lyanna… He struggled to put that in the back of his mind, at least until he could send Brandon back to Winterfell. "I wish to inform you of a perfidy upon the North, your Grace."

The King blinked. "What is it this time? Another bunch of wildlings got over the Wall? I already sent a bunch of cutthroats to the damn Night's Watch. No more from me, Stark."

"I was not speaking of the Wildlings, my King. I speak of the Ironborn. They have raided Flint's Finger in the North."

"Ironborn?" In this the King leaned in to listen. "My knowledge is that their craven Lord Paramount wished to develop trade and cease raids." It had been he and Tywin's first true project after his coronation, and while his mind blotted Tywin out of the historiography in his mind it still brought him pride.

Clearing his throat, Lord Varys stepped forward. "Apparently Lord Quellon Greyjoy is bedridden with rheumatism. Your Grace."

Aerys stared. "What? Why wasn't I told about this?"

"It didn't seem important until now, since he was still dictating policy of his domains. But now that he is ill his sons are far more immersed in reestablishing the Iron Way."

_Damn Tywin, he must be causing this. He was always jealous of my greatest triumph!_ "And what would you have me do, Lord Stark?"

Almost taken aback, Rickard didn't expect Aerys to be so… tractable to his requests. "I wished to get your approval to call the remaining banners of the North to ward off this threat."

Rubbing his chin, Aerys pondered the request. "I see. Where would you concentrate this?"

Rickard's head hurt. "At Flint's Finger and Deepwood Motte, with a few thousand at Moat Cailin in case the Ironborn try an inland raid." If he could wrangle that amount out of Aerys, then he could conceal the entire Northern army there.

"Inland raid? The Greyjoys?!" Aerys barked laughter, clutching his side. "I've never known the Ironborn to leave their ships except to pillage and fuck." His eyes turned, surprisingly, to the Imp right beside Rickard. "You, little man. I wonder if you think that Lord Stark's excuse to fritter away his men at a ruined keep comes up as short as you." He giggled at his own jape.

Tyrion, forcing a smile, laughed with Aerys. "Another good one, your Grace." _Leo Lefford made that jape when I was eight, and I doubt he hadn't heard it first._ "Personally, I think Lord Stark is correct. The Ironborn are as unpredictable as they are erratic. Being from the Westerlands, I know that quite well."

That ended up making the King laugh some more. "Oh, this one is perfect. I should make you my court fool, Lannister half-man."

Silent for a moment, Tyrion's lips pursed as he thought. "Are you sure you would want that, your Grace?" He fought a smirk at Aerys' confusion. "Because my father considers me a blight on House Lannister. Having me as a fool would be a good way to get rid of me, while advancing under Lord Stark's tutelage would bring me into court and make sure I am around to further embarrass him." He smiled, chuckling. "Like the time I put goat shit into my uncle Kevan's boots."

Aerys burst out with a chortling laugh. "Kevan was always a prissy idiot, brilliant! What happened?"

"I blamed it on a squire. The poor boy was flogged."

"Tee-hee!" Aerys fell back in the Iron Throne, grinning madly. "Alright Imp, continue humiliating your piece of shit father." He rose to leave, still snickering.

Rickard almost shouted as he tried to get the King's attention. "Your Grace… the Ironborn?"

Aerys waved Rickard off. "Do what you will, just don't bother me."

"That was good thinking back there, Tyrion," Rickard said outside the Throne Room. "We were almost in a bad situation there."

"No, bad situations are when the King is truly in a rotten mood. But it all required knowing what he enjoys… apparently it's making my father look like a fool."

"Aye, there is an enmity there."

They passed by a rather intricate mosaic of the Fields of Fire before Tyrion looked back at the Lord of Winterfell. "Tell me, my Lord. Why do you want some men at Moat Cailin?"

Peering, Rickard narrowed his eyes. "Let's just say they aren't the only enemies I worry about. The Red Keep is full of vipers." He sighed. "Winterfell is the same, and I don't think my sons know that yet - Ned could learn, though I suspect Bran knows he couldn't." Watching him blink, Rickard gestured towards Tyrion's quarters. "You've earned the afternoon off. Until tomorrow, Tyrion."

Still pondering what Rickard could have meant by that, Tyrion accidently took the wrong turn. "Fuck," he muttered, irritated at being so careless… when he heard voices. Naturally his curiosity got the better of him.

Tyrion crept silently towards the corner. His size actually giving an advantage for once, short stature more easily hid. "... Can you provide it for me?"

"I don't know… you're asking something of me that cannot be taken lightly."

Making it to the corner, Tyrion peeked around the corner, finding two men walking away. One in a gaudy doublet and trousers with fire-red hair, and the other a man in maester's robes. _Connington and Pycelle_. "What are you two talking about?" he murmured inaudibly.

Connington seemed insistent. "I can give you a lordship, when this is all over with." _A lordship for the Grand Maester?_ "Lands from the traitors."

"But the concoction you want…"

"The Realm needs you to do the right thing, Pycelle. Don't get in my way and do as I ask." The last thing Tyrion heard was the Grand Maester sigh as they walked out of range.

* * *

Flanking the door, the two guards swaddled in spotted mustard tunics stepped apart, spears clanging on the stone. Disciplined to the core, but even more so that their beloved Princess had returned to her childhood home. "Princess Elia, Crown Prince Rhaegar."

To her right, Rhaegar raised an eyebrow, scowling except for a twinkling glint in his eye that betrayed his mirth. Elia smirked. "Querys, Lueral. It's good to see you too."

The aged guards smiled warmly, wanting to hug the little girl they had watched over for her entire childhood. "You look… radiant… your Grace."

"I am happy, dearest Sers. My husband makes me very happy." Elia patted Rhaegar's arm.

It heartened her greatly to see some in Sunspear or the Water Gardens to regard her marriage as a positive… "Not to mention that stunning northern beauty you brought here," Lueral smirked. "We expected your brother to shack up with a muscular warrior and a fierce maiden, but you beat him to it." Both of them laughed at how both blushed bright red. Arthur Dayne simply looked like he wanted to melt into the floor.

"I think we embarrassed the future King, Lueral," said Querys, far more modest than his flamboyant comrade. "Plus it seems that our little Elia hasn't sampled her northerner."

Lerual's eyes widened. "Oh, Elia, say it isn't so. If I had both her and your husband in my bed…"

"Alright! Thank you for your kind words," she stammered, knocking them on their shoulders. "Is my brother inside?"

Biting back a smile, Querys nodded. "Go on in, he'll be there shortly."

Fancy Tyroshi columns and green-painted railings framed the three story balcony over the private courtyard of the Water Gardens. It was someplace Elia knew quite well - if it wasn't for the libertine Dornishmen and women that she called childhood friends scandalizing her every five minutes, the Princess adored the chance to show Rhaegar and Lyanna everything. Memories of kissing Rhaegar beneath the palm fronds came to mind… as did fantasies of doing the same with Lyanna.

_Gods… one nude swim with her and my cunt is soaked._

"Those two seem like a fun pair to be around," she heard Rhaegar tell her, an arm snaking around her waist. "Sure I won't hear of them sneaking a young lad or maiden into the palace for you?"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I don't appreciate that… and no. You were my only."

"Let's just say, I vastly prefer the Torrentine to here. Starfall, Wyl, and Yronwood have far more… sane people than you Rhoynish blood-addled prostitutes."

Elia raised an eyebrow. "Who blew sand up Arthur's ass?"

The kingsguard rolled his eyes. "I heard that."

Rhaegar grinned. "Unfortunately Arthur's been in a pissy mood because every knight and bastard knight is trying to lure Dacey into their bed." He gestured to Arthur's knuckles, which were rubbed raw. "All the ones he hasn't punched out, Dacey has. Barristan tells me she has quite the cross."

"Northerners… they're all as wild as their lands." Elia sighed dreamily. "That's why we… you love them." The glint in his eyes told her he didn't miss the slip. Or was it a slip?

Before any of the three could reply, the doors behind them opened once more revealing a rail thin man in robes of the finest Myrish silk. Muted black hair styled straight, Doran Martell held little of the firm musculature of Oberyn but was nonetheless every bit as regal. A tight yet genuine smile stretched across his face as he opened his arms. "Dearest sister." Behind him was his own trusted guard, Aero Hoteh.

No matter their… estrangement, be it from his being sixteen namedays older than her or from how… dispassionate he was in regards to using her as a political cyvasse piece, Elia loved him dearly. She returned the hug with enthusiasm. "Brother, it's been too long."

"Alas, travel doesn't sit too well with me these days," he said with an apologetic glance. Neither Rhaegar nor Ser Arthur missed his stiff legs. _Gout or rheumatism…_ "My Prince." Abandoning the formal bow, he delivered the classing Dornish kiss on the cheeks… though it was anything but warm. "Thank you for bringing Aegon and Rhaenys. I delighted in meeting them."

"Yes, they are the light of my life, as is Elia."

It was obvious that Doran didn't believe him, but he kept quiet. Nodding to Rhaegar, Doran turned to Arthur. "I see King's Landing has treated you well. Brought a beautiful girl home to meet your father… I think he will be thrilled."

Whenever Dacey came up, Arthur's expression brightened. "I hope so too, Prince Doran." The then heir to Sunspear was a constant companion to Lord Althos Dayne and his brood of three children whenever they visited the Water Gardens… which was quite often. Arthur and Ashara didn't like libertine Sunspear, but they loved Oberyn and Elia like siblings. "I'm sure Ashara will love her."

"That makes two of us, now..." Doran motioned to several chairs. "I assume you didn't seek me out for a meeting such as this to catch up. What business do you wish to speak to me about?"

"I assume Oberyn told you some things," Rhaegar began as he sat.

Doran sighed. "My brother was… cryptic. Said you were plotting something in the capitol. I assume it has to do with your father, yes?"

They had discussed it at length on the ship to Sunspear. The three of them wrapped together under the furs, fingers caressing his chest as they went over what would be needed to inform the Doran about the plot. Clearing his throat, Rhaegar dived in. "I wish to overthrow my father and place myself on the Throne."

There was silence. "I was afraid of this," Doran finally exhaled.

"It's the right thing to do for the Realm, brother." She may have never connected truly with him due to the age difference, but Elia hoped that he would understand. "Aerys is a monster and is taking the Kingdoms down with his delusions."

"If you are referring to the loss of Lady Lyanna's babe, then I am aware of that rumor."

_Lady Lyanna…_ His goodbrother's attempts to discomfort him wouldn't make Rhaegar react. But Elia did. "It's not… just that," she said slowly, trying not to let her ire rise for the woman she loved. "Aerys lets delusions of the Doom of Valyria and dragon eggs consume him. He wishes to go to war with the Westerlands because he feels Tywin Lannister wants to bring the Doom upon Westeros."

"Then why not just go around him? Daeron did that for his father."

"And yet only a storm stopped him from laying waste to Dorne," Rhaegar cut in. "Many follow my father, but only a bloodless abdication followed by my taking the Iron Throne can ease the tensions."

The Prince of Dorne stared at him, tired eyes a cold twin of Elia's. "Let us say you're right. Such was also said about another ruler. It resulted in massive wars and a series of pretenders that nearly destroyed House Targaryen." Leaving them unsettled with his Daemon Blackfyre reference, Doran sat back in his chair. "But you are my goodbrother. My sister is to be Queen, and my nephew the heir. I will offer you Dorne's full support."

A sigh of relief left Elia's lips, smiling brightly as she took in Arthur's surprise and Rhaegar's happy surprise. "Oh, brother." She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "I knew you'd see reason." No she didn't, but flattery was always good.

Such a good mood was stilled when Doran raised a finger. "However," he looked at his sister. "Our homeland has endured hells on earth from the very family you married into." The look shifted to Rhaegar, eyes darkening. "Therefore I will require two conditions of you."

Rhaegar - a quick flicker of the eye finding Elia confused at the direction Doran was taking - pursed his lips and leaned forward. "What are your conditions?"

"First, you are to cancel the betrothal of Prince Viserys to Lady Margaery Tyrell and instead betroth him to my daughter Arianne."

Blinking, the Crown Prince was slightly surprised, but only slightly. "That isn't… unreasonable. Margaery could always marry Aegon, yes, Elia?"

She agreed - it wasn't ideal to force Egg into a marriage negotiated while he was just a babe, but that was how things were done. "I agree, but why Viserys, brother?"

"Because I wish for Martell blood to stay on the throne if something happens to Prince Aegon."

Perturbed by his bloodless tone, Rhaegar noticed the crux of the statement. "Rhaenys is the heir after Egg, unless Lyanna sires more sons by me."

It was almost as if Doran recoiled at the mere mention of Lyanna. "Rhaenys would be fine for me but the Andals don't take kindly to women rulers… but I'm glad you brought up Lady Lyanna." There it was again - _Lady Lyanna_. "Dorne requests a decree that removes any children of Lyanna Stark's womb from succession."

"What?!" Elia shouted in disbelief.

Rhaegar was furious. "Out of the question."

"Ah, so what I am told is true." Doran smiled… more like grimaced really. "This wasn't foisted on you. You wanted to dishonor my sister."

"I have not been dishonored, brother!" If Rhaegar was furious, Elia was seeing red. "How dare you insult my-sister wife, your Princess and future Queen."

Doran regarded her as one would a child talking of riding on the back of a giant. "I fail to remember the marriage alliance House Martell ever made with House Stark, and as I recall the Doctrine of Exceptionalism forbade pologamy."

"Dragons answer to neither gods nor men," she countered.

"But there are no dragons, so here we are." When riding a dragon, no one cared if one took a hundred wives. Without though… "I do not care if you wish to copy Oberyn's proclivities, sister - while I do hope that this harlot's cunt tastes well enough to…"

"Speak one more word and you lose your tongue," Rhaegar seethed - quickly, Aero Hoteh's hand went to his scimitar, followed by Arthur's to Dawn. Tension ratcheting up, a fearful plea from Elia sent Rhaegar leaning back, defusing the crisis. "Do not do that again."

Doran rubbed his neck. Sister," he looked straight at Elia, ignoring Rhaegar. "The moment Lyanna births a son, Egg's crown is threatened."

"Lyanna loves Egg like her own!" Elia protested, only to get the same patronizing smile.

"Oh Elia, you were always idealistic like our brother. The Starks may be fools, but anyone may wish to use a child born of Lyanna's womb to take power, leaving Egg and Rhae as liabilities to be put down." Now, his gaze turned back to Rhaegar. "I would rather you set aside Lyanna and send her back to Winterfell or to Robert Baratheon - I don't care which - but either you accept my requirements or we…"

"Not accepted," Rhaegar answered simply. Daring Doran to do something about it.

The Prince of Dorne merely frowned. "Very well." He pushed out of his chair, legs shaking as Hoteh came to help steady him. "Dorne will not stand against Aegon's birthright, but we will not stand with you either. Good luck." He left as abruptly as he entered.

As soon as he was gone, Elia let out a frustrated scream as Rhaegar punched one of the columns.

* * *

"_Muna!_ Watch me!" Twirling the stick in her arms, Rhaenys tried to copy her uncle's movements as best she could… what resulted was a ridiculous if adorable flurries of assaults that were closer to a twirling Lysene dancing girl than the mighty Red Viper.

Lyanna giggled at the sight, clapping her hands. "I love your enthusiasm, little dragon," she called out. _Go easy on her, Obara…_

The vivacious yet plain nine-nameday old smiled the entire time, easily beating back the blows while letting Rhaenys get a few hits in. "Oww, I'm being bested," Obara shouted rather dramatically - how she managed to fend her off one-handed while pushing a strand of rat-brown hair behind her ear belied the truth.

"Bow before the mighty dragon!" Rhaenys shrieked, giggling. But a stumble over a loose stone found her 'guard' down. An eventuality that Obara 'exploited' by gently knocking her to the ground. Falling on her ass, Lyanna gasped and quickly dashed to her.

"Rhae, are you alright?" Above, Obara looked with concern - hoping she didn't hurt her little cousin.

But Rhaenys was made of stern stuff. Instead of pout or cry, she frowned and smacked the ground. "Seven hells!'

Chuckling at the girl's stubbornness, Lyanna kissed her brow. "Rhaenys, you're still young. Watch your language."

"Sorry, _muna_. But I thought I was good." Now the tears formed in her eyes. "I wanna be as good as you."

_I love this child so much._ "Oh, little dragon…" Lyanna hugged her close, pulling them both up. "I didn't just become like this overnight. It took me moons just to face your father."

"_Kepa_ said you fought like a Silent Sister."

Frowning, Lyanna muttered something not ladylike. "I'll have to have a word with _kepa_ then." Taking in the girl's returned smile, she ruffled her raven curls. "Let's start from the beginning. Try working on your stance. Staying firm in battle is the key to winning, like this." Lyanna formed a rather simple root stance, showing a simple right slash maneuver adapted to spears.

"Like this?" Rhaenys tried the same. While she was too sloppy, it was pretty good for a first timer.

"Keep practicing. Don't move your feet from where you plant them, but you're on your way, Rhaenys." The girl looked happier than she'd ever been. "And for you Obara…"

Watching with a smile herself, the bastard girl bowed her head. "Your Grace."

"Enough of that now. You're essentially my niece now, and I can tell you that you fight very well." It was as if she told Obara that she was going to marry the Yi Ti Emperor. "Keep working on your one handed parries. If you can wield that and a dagger in battle, you will not have many foes." She pulled back, watching Oberyn's eldest continue her exercises.

"Well, seems like my cousins have taken to you."

Turning, Lyanna found a short, beautiful young girl approaching, older governess trailing behind. It was clear the girl had been pudgy in her younger years, but now was slender as a reed, olive skin and large eyes promising great beauty upon her flowering. Lyanna had met her before, and genuinely smiled. "Princess Arianne."

Arianne Martell returned the smile, curtseying. "Princess Lyanna." Behind, her governess curtseyed as well, though the expression was far less friendly. "I see you've gotten the love of my martial cousins, though I'm glad to find the chance to speak to you myself."

"Well, you are a lovely, well-read young maiden. I'm glad to." She meant it.

"Good. Lady Allyrion, you may leave us." Delonne Allyrion, Lyanna remembered - the heir to Godsgrace.

The governess frowned. "But, princess…"

"I said, it was alright," Arianne repeated, only firmer this time. "You may leave us."

Scowling, Lady Delonne began to walk away. As she did, Lyanna heard 'Northern whore,' muttered under her breath. Sighing, she put on a proper facade. "I really am glad to see you, Princess Arianne. Your company was delightful at the feast last week." Turns out she was the only one not named Oberyn that truly wished to converse with her, and Lyanna appreciated it.

"Oh that, it was nothing. I was intrigued by the northern warrior Lady that so captivated my aunt," she replied with a significant maturity about her.

Nodding, the northern beauty noticed a rather tired Rhaenys starting to fall over. "Rhaenys, sweetling. I think it's time to stop." Gingerly kissing the crown of her head, she guided her to where the training weapons were stacked. "Elia is my best friend in the capitol - I'm better for knowing her."

"Do you take her to bed as you do the Prince?"

Helping Rhaenys stack the staff back, Lyanna stiffened. Arianne's rather inappropriate question freezing her in place, staff clattering to the ground. "Silly _muna_," Rhaenys giggled.

Gulping, Lyanna turned. "Um… what?"

Arianne smirked. "You heard me."

"I'm not sure what you mean…"

"Don't jape me, your Grace. I'm nine namedays, not addled. Besides, there's plenty of that going on in the Water Gardens… so tell me. Do you take Aunt Elia to bed?"

"Gods…" Lyanna blushed red. "No, I don't."

Cocking her head, Arianne regarded her curiously. "Why? Is she not pretty to you?"

The blush grew hotter. "What… she's very beautiful, but I'm…"

"Not into women?" This time it was Obara. "Doesn't stop most of the ladies here. They seem pretty happy together."

What was it about Dornish girls and their precociousness? _I'll need to make sure Rhaenys doesn't lose her maidenhead once she's flowered._ "I… northerners don't do stuff like that. It's…"

"An abomination? Relax, I've heard it from septas before." Arianne sighed. "I don't want to judge you, your Grace, but when I see my aunt look at you with longing I don't want to see her heart broken."

This floored Lyanna. "No, Elia doesn't feel that way about me."

Arianne regarded her with a smirk. "Sure, keep telling yourself that." Laughing, she began walking away. "Come on, Obara. I think we've lit the fuse in my newest aunt." They left hand in hand, a gaping Lyanna in their wake. Her mind whirring, mixed with imaged of her sister-wife. Scrutinizing her looks… shifting to her face… and then her body… _She really is gorgeous…_

"_Muna!_ Walk with me in the gardens!" She nodded absentmindedly as Rhaenys led her towards the beautiful trees and flowers.

* * *

As he expected, Rickard Stark found Jon Arryn at his desk, scribbling notes all over stacks of paper that cluttered the wood. "Interrupting?" he asked.

Jumping slightly, Arryn's shock melted into a friendly smile across his wrinkled face. "Lord Rickard… no, not at all. Come, sit." The northerner took the chair across from him offered. "What brings you here?"

"Ned has confirmed the Mormonts have begun building the extra ships."

"Oh? Good." Arryn winced. "I don't wish to believe Connington is behind the Ironborn attacks, but I can't say he isn't. Best to preempt him and see what happens… when he makes his move."

Noticing the heavily scribbled over sheafs of parchment on the Lord's table, Rickard clicked his tongue. "Trying to calculate the height of every peak in the Vale again? I remember Ned saying you spent a year trying to prove Archmaester Artys wrong," he chuckled.

Jon Arryn gave him an exhausted smile. "Oh, I wish it were so delightfully mundane as that." Ten namedays younger with a lungful of fresh mountain air… it sounded divine to him. "No, something far more irritating. Marriage alliances."

Rickard winced, bile in his mouth. "I may not be the best to seek advice on that from. My attempts to find Lyanna a suitable husband did not end well." _Had the King not relieved me of that…_ Lyanna wouldn't have the happiness she did have, though much the same pain most likely.

"Very true, old friend, though I'm glad to have someone to discuss this with. It's high time I find Elbert a proper bride rather than that string of bannermen maidens and wives he's siring bastards up and down with."

"How many is it this time?"

"Three that I know of, all girls thank the Seven. I don't want mini-Blackfyre rebellions all over the Vale." His dashing, martial nephew was everything Jon Arryn wished for in an heir, much like his brother had been - but not the first time he had found himself praying that the lad would be more modest as he was. _Like Ned._ "Not as many as Robert is rumored of siring already, but I digress. He needs a bride."

House Arryn - due to a string of bad luck - was on the brink. With the death of all of Jon's children, all that was left were a cousin, his sister's brood not bearing the Arryn name, and Elbert. "Have you considered taking a wife of your own?"

"What? Me? Oh, by the Seven no. I'm far too old. Twice was enough to tell me that I just don't have luck in that guild."

"Walder Frey still sires children even though he is as old as you."

"Comparing me with Walder Frey? If that would convince me?" The two of them both ended up laughing. "No, Elbert is my heir. I love him as a son, if not as much as Ned… would you be so kind as to let me have him?" Jon asked with a teasing tone.

Smirking himself, Rickard shook his head. "No, I'm too partial to my pups, especially Ned." He picked up a finished list. "Most of these names are crossed out... Lyanna?" He raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

The Lord Paramount of the Vale chuckled. "A man is never too old to dream, is he? Don't get offended, I crossed her off immediately after."

"Mmmm-hmmm. I'll make sure the Crown Prince doesn't catch wind of this." Pursing his lips, Rickard continued to scan the list. "There are no ladies of the Vale here?"

"Best serve Rhaegar's objectives. Get some alliances set up."

"Good thinking." _Laena Velaryon, Lucerys' daughter._ A good choice, very rich indeed. _Ashara Dayne, a beautiful lass._ More crossed out names, mostly from Dorne or the Reach. _Lynesse Hightower. Lysa Tully._ It seemed as if Arryn had nearly pierced the paper so hard he crossed her off. _Dacey Mormont…_ There was no hiding why that was crossed out. Her being in a delicate condition by Ser Arthur was the gossip of the Red Keep after interest in Lyanna's miscarriage started to wane. "You crossed out Cersei Lannister."

Snorting, Arryn snatched the parchment from Rickard. "And good thing. I'd rather not have Ned hate me for the rest of my life."

Confusion clouded Rickard's expression. "What does Ned have to do with this?"

"He didn't tell you?" The Lord of the Eyrie chuckled. "Apparently he danced with Cersei Lannister at the royal wedding and then disappeared for a walk in the gardens. Both quite besotted."

Rickard's eyes bugged out of their sockets. "Cersei Lannister?!" How in seven hells had this not come to his attention? "Gods, Ned. First Lya and now you setting your sights on the unattainable."

"And yet Lyanna's sights weren't unattainable, were they?" grinned Jon Arryn, chuckling… only for him to cough. As if he was hacking out a lung. "Fucking body, don't fail me now." He gulped down some wine. "Cersei is a good choice for him. Reach out to Tywin and make it happen."

"Tywin would want Brandon, not Ned."

"Then make Ned your heir."

"I couldn't do that to my eldest son." Olenna Tyrell's words kept repeating in his head. Gods, everything had seemed so simple before the Tourney at Harrenhal. "Regardless, who do you think would be best for Elbert?"

Leaning back, Arryn smirked. "Changing the subject are we? Alright, I've settled on Olenna's remaining unmarried child. Janna Tyrell."

This was intriguing. "A Tyrell? Quite the beauty. Elbert would be pleased enough."

"I should hope so. The Reach has money, food, and power. Allying with Olenna may swing Mace away from supporting His Grace." Another cough, this one rather painful. "He… he is quite fond of… both... " Cough. "His sisters…" More coughs.

Out of his seat, Rickard moved to the Old Lord. "Jon, are you well?" This did not seem a normal malady of the lungs.

Not a man of vibrant color even before, it seemed as if Jon Arryn's face was rubbed with chalk. "Seems… my gut…" Suddenly he bent forward, retching his stomach onto the entire table. Only instead of the greenish acid of bile… it was blood. Bright red with the stench death vapors.

"GET THE MAESTER!"

* * *

Having emerged from the palace kitchens with a flagon of spring water, Benjen's eyes followed her quizzically. "Do you have a question, _Ser Benjen_?"

"It is not my place to ask, _your Grace_."

"Just ask, brother."

"Alright, why are you carrying a flagon yourself?"

"Am I too snobbish to even bring water to my room?"

"Not at all. Just hopin' you didn't become a perfumed, swooning lady like in the capitol." As a young, dashing knight, many of those sought to invite him into their beds - it made Benjen all too familiar with such species.

Lyanna smacked his shoulder. "You believing me capable of that is insulting."

"At least Dacey or Ellaria…"

"Dacey is spending time with Arthur. Horrible pregnancy sickness." He was a natural father and lover already, caring for Dacey's every need. "And Ellaria…" A grin. "A certain Prince hasn't left her room all day."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Can't be Rhaegar, and Doran looks like he couldn't fuck a goblet… no, not Oberyn."

"Seems the two biggest whoremongers in the Realm have finally settled down." It really was sweet if she thought about it. "Now all that's left is finding you a woman… or a man," Lyanna giggled.

Benjen was not amused. "Shut it."

The grin widened. "I mean, this is Dorne. If you want either then you can find it."

"You're lucky you're my sister, Princess or no." Thankfully reaching the chambers, Benjen took guard next to Ser Gerold. "Sleep well, Lya." Nodding, Lyanna kissed her younger brother's cheek and darted inside.

Feeling happy and content, such died at seeing the grim frowns on her husband and sister-wife. "What's wrong?" Rhaegar held a dispatch. "Did something happen to the Queen? My father?"

Rhaegar sighed. "No, not them." He was dressed for sleep, chest bare and hair let down over his shoulders - Elia rested atop the bed in a sheer nightdress with her hair down as well. Both looked absolutely beautiful. "Jon Arryn, dead of acute failure of the bowel."

"Oh no…" She may not have been the closest to Ned's faster father, but he was a good man and a loyal ally. "Will the Vale stand with us, now?"

Elia answered her. "Lord Elbert is a close friend of both Ned and Brandon, so I should hope so."

"I'll write a condolence letter to the Eyrie in the morning." Yawking, Rhaegar sat upon the bed, motioning for Lyanna to slide in beside him. "Right now I need my brides." Smiling, Lyanna began untying her skimpy Dornish gown to join her now kissing spouses.

An hour later, the now exhausted Rhaegar was dozing in the center of the bed. Milked dry of his precious seed by both panting beauties - each clutching his chest as they tried to calm their heartbeats. "Lya," Elia called softly to her, gradually moving her fingertips closer to hers.

"Aye?" replied Lyanna, peering over Rhaegar's chest at her sister-wife.

"Doran won't help us." She bit her lip. "Not unless we exclude your line from the succession."

An anger hit Lyanna for a split second, morphing soon after into simple fatigue. "Any chance that happens?"

Elia's eyes darkened. "Not in a thousand lifetimes."

While she should be flattered, Lyanna was nonetheless fearful. "We need Dorne's support."

Looking at the woman she loved, Elia wrapped her fingers around Lya's. "Not as much as you… we need you more."_ I need you more…_ "I'm so sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"My House, my brother, my fault." Elia suddenly felt a squeeze, Lyanna's grey eyes boring on her.

In the low moonlight, the Dornish Princess looked radiant. Just as beautiful as Rhaegar, just in a different way. Dark and sultry rather than an almost winter flame that was her husband. "It is not your fault."

Lyanna looked away. "Sometimes it feels like it is." She heard everything they said, saw every look they gave. There wasn't much doubt in her mind that the Northerners would treat Elia with respect. _Am I truly the mistress that dishonored my sister-wife?_ A woman she cared about, who was practically her best friend…

Perhaps someone even closer than that.

Elia squeezed her hand back, drawing Lyanna to the beautiful honey-brown eyes that made her heart hitch, almost like Rhaegar's violets. A look that made Lyanna doubt her denials to Arianne's question if but a moment. "I don't blame you, Lya. I could never." They smiled at each other, falling to sleep not long after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna's getting closer, but Doran isn't budging.
> 
> Jon Arryn dies... that's gonna cause some shit.
> 
> Next time, Doran's insults lead to a beautiful moment for our Prince and Princesses :D


	39. My Loves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. Hope y'all are doing well.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

For the third time that night, Lyanna Targaryen refilled the tiny brass bowl with the spiced oil concoction, decadently dipping the crusty bread within. "I see you're enjoying our fine baked goods, Lyanna," her goodbrother said warmly, shoulder length black hair pulled back into a bun. He looked years younger, almost boyish, although the woman seated next to him - her shoulders affectionately brushing against his - probably contributed to that.

Lyanna smiled at Oberyn. "Bread is bread, brother, but…"

"Oh, bread is most definitely not bread, Princess Lyanna," stated Lady Mellario Martell, having finally returned to Sunspear from the Free Cities. Impeccably dressed in the finest of Myrish fashion, she looked like a true exotic beauty. Far different from the more muted blacks, greys, and reds of Lyanna and Elia. "The sweetbreads of Norvos, simply the best."

"I have no doubt about that, sister," Elia replied, a bit icy as she sat across from Lyanna - Rhaegar at the guest of honor position across the length of the table, overlooking Doran at the head. Her goodsister was more respectful than most here, but still interrupted Lyanna. _They know better._ "I think what my sister-wife meant was the oil and spice mix."

Nodding, Lyanna delicately bit off a bit. _Dacey would probably scarf this down in one bite._ "It tastes heavenly."

"Father grows it in his personal gardens," boasted Arianne, seated across from her mother and next to her brother Quentyn. "Oh, some of the most wonderful fruits grow there. The blood oranges are amazing."

The princess was given a warm look from Lyanna. "I'll have to try them later."

Tonight was their last night in Sunspear - the culmination in their disastrous progress through the seventh Kingdom. Rhaegar was already praying Althos Dayne was of a better disposition towards him before he continued to the Reach. The insults and hate that were coming Lyanna's way simply reminded him of a classier version of what his father dished on Elia. _They see her as an insult… or a threat._ It didn't help that he was a Targaryen. _Just one more day, one more day._ They'd have even more grief if Doran sided with his father out of spite.

The dining room was smaller than the great hall, meant for more intimate dinners of the family or honored guests. Candles lit the sandstone walls while large windows let in the cool sea breeze, stars twinkling in the sky. It was beautiful, undoubtedly, added by the deliciousness of the meals as the servants brought in another course.

"Oh, Lyanna, you should try the fish." Arianne gestured to a plate that Elia was already scooping up steaming helpings of. "Cooked in butter and lemon, purely delicious." Doran glanced disapprovingly at his daughter, but she didn't notice. Quentyn did, though the seven-nameday old remained quiet.

"It is, Lya," Elia added. "My favorite."

"Since when?" Rhaegar japed. "You never eat fish."

She gave him a cross look. "Blackwater Bay's fish are disgusting. This is Dorne - we have more refined stomachs." Oberyn almost choked on his food as he laughed, Ellaria, Arianne, and Quentyn joining him. Even Doran cracked a smirk.

Lyanna giggled. "You walked into that one, husband." Just the recommendation of her sister-wife would have been enough, but when the smell came to her, her stomach rebelled. "I'll have to pass, though. The ham-wrapped shrimp look delicious though." Taking a bite, it truly was.

"Don't have fish in the north, do they?" Her eyes lifted from the plate to find her other goodbrother looking at her. "Oh, there are ports, but I take it that the fish would need to be salted to make it to Winterfell without spoiling. Such a shame - ruins the taste." He took a bit of his fish, saying nothing more.

Glancing at Elia, Oberyn knew his brother was insulting the North's backwardness in terms of roads. He decided to change the subject. "Oh, I heard something from my friend Quentyn Qorgyle. Seems his uncle the Lord Commander is putting the thousand brigands and cutthroats the King sent to Castle Black to good use."

"Really?" This was news to her. "How so?"

"The wildlings, they're uniting around a King, oddly enough. Half of them already pledged to him, though none bent the knee."

A snort from Mellario. "Of course they didn't. Those up there, savages all of them." She didn't even bother to differentiate.

Lyanna remained calm. "I think Dorne would appreciate a people that live unbowed, wouldn't they not?" Elia and Ellaria bit back giggles, while Rhaegar smirked openly. Enjoying the irritation on Doran's face.

Dinner continued in general silence until Oberyn cleared his throat. "There is something we wished to tell all of you." He tangled his hands with Ellaria. "As my reputation precedes me with, I am not as one would say a abstemious man."

"That's putting it mildly." Elia preened at Oberyn's mock glare. All that was missing was an olive being thrown across the table and it would have been their childhood.

"Anyway, I didn't think this day would happen, but I finally found a woman who stole my heart." Smiling softly, he kissed Ellaria's cheek - the woman grinning like an idiot. "I am glad to say that the beautiful Ellaria Sand has agreed to be my paramour."

The reaction was instantaneous from Elia, who very unregally squealed and enveloped her friend in a hug. "Finally! I'm so happy for you, _sister!"_ she couldn't help but add at the end.

Laughing, Ellaria returned the hug. "I wouldn't go that far, but thank you. I am quite happy."

Grin on his face, Rhaegar looked over at his goodbrother. "Never thought I'd see the day you'd settle down, Oberyn. The same woman waking beside you for the rest of your life…" he teased.

"Oh, that would have unsettled me only a week ago, but Ellaria…" He kissed her cheek again. "For her I don't seem to mind."

Drawn into the happiness of the moment, Lyanna smiled as well. "I have a feeling that you two are perfect for each other, in that the adventures won't end anytime soon."

Lascivious look sent her way, Ellaria nodded. "You know me so well, your Grace."

"I'm delighted, uncle. Most blessings to you," Arianne offered, as did Mellario and a quiet croak of thanks from Quentyn.

One person, however, was silent. Waiting for the excitement to die down before he finally spoke. "Brother," Doran said quietly. "Have you thought about this? I mean really thought about this?"

The first crack in Oberyn's joy happened then. Eyebrow quirking up. "What do you mean, brother?"

"What I am saying is that is this woman the one you truly want the world to see you with? I can understand her being a mistress, but your paramour?"

"What's wrong with Ellaria?" challenged Elia, locking eyes with her brother. Around the table, Rhaegar, Lyanna, and Arianne seemed to shrink in their seats. Knowing a storm was coming. "She's my devoted lady in waiting and of high birth."

A sickly smile spread on Doran's face. "I know this, sister, but she isn't of a true high birth. Nor does she act as one would."

The table was silent, tense at this. "Watch yourself, Doran," Oberyn glowered, still holding his love's hand. "Do you dare taint even your nieces of the conditions of their birth to spite me?"

"Not at all. I love my nieces, but just because you've fathered bastards doesn't mean you should marry one. Especially one that is such a…" He stopped, taking a deep breath even as both his siblings reddened in anger. "I've tolerated your… indiscretions for years because you were young, unattached, and a loyal son of Dorne, plus I already have my heirs. But there was always an assumption you'd marry someone respectable for the gain of our House."

"I'm sitting right here," Ellaria hissed. "If you have something to say, you can say it to my face… my Prince."

"What my husband means to say is that she is a trollop." The Prince of Sunspear was a diplomatic man, but Lady Mellario was as uncompromising as the religious laws she grew up under. "No better than a common prostitute."

"Mother!" Arianne yelled, face reddening.

Though knowing better, Lyanna interjected. "Perhaps we should just move on…"

Her comment only led Doran sigh. "I didn't say those words, but my lady wife holds a slight kernel of truth. Tell your brother that he is making a dreadful mistake - it's bad enough that through you House Martell is associated with another…"

While catching himself, Doran had already said enough to mire him in an even worse conflict. One that challenged not just his family, but his future King as well. Elia's eyes darkened. "What?"

Lyanna looked down at her plate, while Rhaegar looked up. "I would like to know what as well, goodbrother."

Even Doran knew that he had blundered into something he wasn't comfortable discussing here, but there was no doubt he meant what he was trying to say. Thus, for his equally precocious but insecure son, the desire to please his father led him to blurt it out. "My father says you insult my aunt by taking a whore into your bed… oww!" A sudden punch under the table from Arianne shut him up.

Elia blazed with anger, but at Doran. "You called Lyanna a whore?"

"I wouldn't use those words," Doran countered. "But you know my views on the subject."

"How dare you…"

"For what?" Lady Mellario said, interjecting for her husband. "You condone this… living in sin even though it would spell doom for House Targaryen."

Elia had never liked her goodsister - Norvos was a city ruled by insane priests, and it led them to chaos. "The affairs of House Targaryen are none of your concern."

A snort came from Doran. "They became my concern when you became the Crown Princess, sister. They became my concern when my nephew became second in line to the throne." He didn't want to say anything more, but now he didn't care. "No one envies the position that I am in, worried that his nephew and niece will be usurped by the other woman at this table."

"If you think Lyanna would hurt them then you are as addled as your idiot of a son." Quentyn opened his mouth to defend himself only for Arianne to silence him with a pinch.

Doran chuckled. "No? I worry every day at how your husband sees the world. Of whether he is actually the strong Prince we hope he is or if he channels the personalities of Aenys the Weak and Viserys the Clueless. Enjoying his pleasures while his family schemes behind his back to stab him when he least expects it... and you're content to let them do it."

Elia looked at him incredulously, while Rhaegar and Lyanna were silent. Both unsure of how to respond, while the latter felt her very soul being attacked.

"At least they were devoted men, from my knowledge of the early years of House Targaryen, not that they were welcome times for Dorne." Doran supped from his glass, shunning the spiced watered wine that all others drank for a finer vintage. "I suppose such humility and faithfulness would have done Aegon the Unworthy well." He laughed softly, meeting Mellario's eyes before continuing, gaze focused intently on Rhaegar. "Now Aegon the Conqueror and Daeron the Young Dragon nearly wiped Dorne out, so it is ironic that I find him the most unpalatable of all the Targaryen Kings." I mean, his flagrant parading of his First Man mistress all over the Red Keep was just embarrassing..."

A sharp metallic clang rang out, silencing the dining hall. Lyanna stood, eyes training to her as she trembled slightly. She drew a steely, emotionless mask on her face - it didn't fool anyone that truly knew her. Melissa Blackwood, Aegon IV's mistress, from the family that famously kept to the Old Gods below the Neck. Lyanna's gods, Doran essentially used Melissa Blackwood to call her a mere mistress of court rather than Rhaegar's wife. Not as obvious as Quentyn, but everyone understood.

Especially Lyanna. Without a word, she simply pushed in her chair and walked out of the room. Servant barely able to open the door before she pushed her way through it with her head held high. "Lya," Elia called out, springing upright. "Wait!" Beside her, Rhaegar seethed silently, jaw clenched.

"Sit back down, sister, before you embarrass yourself," Doran scolded. Using the same tone as he did whenever she held a romantic notion of marriage to Prince Rhaegar before the actual wedding.

Sensing an even further darkening in the mood, Oberyn interjected. "Please, sister, our brother was too deep in his cups. Doran… please apologize for insulting our guests."

"Apologize?" Quentyn huffed. "You are addled, uncle." He felt his sister thump him from under the table.

Oberyn would have done much worse. "Shut your mouth, boy, before I teach you some manners."

"Don't speak to my son in defense of her." Oberyn's conduct seemed to greatly ire Doran. _All because of that Uller bastard._ "It was only because of you that I let that… woman enter our castle as our guest. Claiming she's a future Queen in the same vein as the other dragons that burned Dorne to the ground." He missed how Rhaegar bent a fork right down the middle out of repressed rage - Doran was lucky the Crown Prince inherited his mother's calm. "That whore dishonors our House by being here."

Seeing red, Elia spat at her brother. "You dishonor yourself, Prince Doran." She picked up her cup only to slam it down again. "It appears my true home is Dragonstone now." The Princess stormed off, the only one on her mind being Lyanna.

All remaining at the table - especially Ser Oswell and Ser Gerold - glanced at Rhaegar, wondering how the mighty dragon would explode. His own heat starting to cool, even Doran regarded him with a slight apprehension. But all was for naught. Rhaegar simply stood, pushing his chair in. "Thank you for the meal, but it appears I've lost my appetite." He bowed his head. "Good evening, my Prince. We will sail for Starfall on the morrow, so I thank you for your hospitality." It wasn't long before he disappeared.

A dark chuckle left Ellaria's lips, staring right at Doran. "And you say I'm the unworthy bastard."

Underneath the table, Arianne thumped her brother again. This time harder. "This is all your fault, fucking toad." The Targaryens wouldn't be able to count on Dorne as an ally in the wars to come after all.

* * *

"I can't believe that was my family!" In her years at the Red Keep, Rhaegar had seen Elia in many moods, from the most unbelievable joy to abject melancholy. Until recently the latter had been closer to the norm, leading many in court to dub her 'the Dreary Queen,' given her stature. But only once did Rhaegar find her ever this enraged. "It's almost like I was seeded in a different womb from my cunt if a brother!"

"Please, my love. Calm down," Rhaegar said without relish. His expression was dark, but instead of the natural Targaryen temper he brooded in a chair. Cheek leaning against his arm as slouched there.

As he expected, Elia didn't listen. Wearing a rut in the floor from pacing back and forth in anger. "That… that… fucking cunt!" Yes, she and Doran had never been close, but his utter rudeness in front of everyone no less finally pushed her over the edge. "I will never forgive him for this! Never!"

Another scowl from Rhaegar - not at her, but at the situation. "We don't have the luxury to be unforgiving."

"You're really going to let him get away with insulting Lya like that?! By insinuating she and Ned and Benjen would harm Egg and Rhae?" By her orders, the Stark kingsguard was on duty protecting the children. A gesture to spite her brother.

"If I could I'd take off his head myself, but we're not hedge knights. I'm the Prince and you're the Princesses - we cannot afford to antagonize Dorne…" _Aenys the Weak and Viserys the Clueless…_ Doran's words… unnerved him. _Am I them?_ Aenys the fool that tried to please everyone while Viserys the fool that didn't see his own family destroying each other under his nose. "No more than we already have," he murmured.

Seated quietly upon bed, Lyanna looked blade-shocked. Staring unseeing into space with hands folded about her lap. Mind going through its own crisis. Doing nothing but listening to her beloveds argue with each other.

And oh did Elia argue. It was as if she had finally transformed into the dragon she had married. "More than we already have?! Us three have done nothing to antagonize my homeland aside from fucking existing and not plotting against each other! And if they truly wish to be angry then why don't they attack your damned father for being a jumped up, abusive cunt…"

"They're right, Elia."

Cut off mid-tirade, Elia turned to gape at Lyanna in shock. Unsure of how the fierce she-wolf could sound so meek now of all times. Frankly, their roles were reversed at the moment. "What in seven hells are you saying?" Just then, there was a knock on the door. "Go the fuck away!" she screamed.

But Benjen poked his head in, hesitant. "Your Graces… Egg… he won't sleep…"

Rhaegar stood. "I'll help put him to bed." Kissing Lyanna on the head, face contorting in pain as she barely responded, he leaned in to Elia. "Please, my love. Help her."

Elia matched his concern. "I will." Soon, it was just them again. Flashing back to just after the miscarriage, only this time there was no grief for Lyanna to truly feel. Without delay she was on the bed - pulling the woman she loved into her arms. "None of what he said is true, Lya. None of it."

"How can you be sure?" The Lyanna one moon before was broken, hurt and sobbing because of it, but this one was… hollow. As if she'd given up. "I can't even assist you or Rhaegar in securing allies."

"That has nothing to do with you, and you've done plenty."

Looking at her sister-wife, Lyanna hung her head with a sigh. "I heard everything they said… all their looks, their words. Calling me a whore. A savage, all of it."

Elia's heart broke. "Oh, Lya." She hugged her even tighter, chin falling in the crook of the northern beauty's neck. Was it wrong to think she smelled so heavenly with all that was going on. "They are jealous crones."

"No, I can't dismiss it." She buried her face in her hands - this wasn't a sudden-onset matter. It had been weighing on her for the longest time. Perhaps the last bit of chaos the loss of her babe had given her. "They have little reason to support House Targaryen as it is. Only the fact Daeron II was the legitimate King kept the Blackfyres from taking everything on anti-Dornish sentiment." The blood feud between the southernmost Kingdom and the rest of Westeros was as old as a united Westeros was. "You and Rhaegar had a delicate balancing act as it is… I'm the liability making it worse."

Reacting almost violently to that, Elia drew back, cupping Lyanna's chin gingerly. "Do not think like that. You are anything but… if I had to choose between Dorne and you, I'd choose you… and so would Rhaegar."

Lyanna blinked. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"It's the truth." Those grey eyes were almost hypnotic. At that moment Elia knew what her husband must have felt in that cottage during the tourney - she was powerless to resist Lyanna either. "I wish I could prove it to you."

Staring with her mouth open slightly, Lyanna regarded Elia. Lids hooded over dilated eyes, lip quivering, an almost glow to her honey skin… It was the same longing look she used to give Rhaegar before the wedding. Arianne's words frittered into her mind. _'...when I see my aunt look at you with longing…'_ Was this what she spoke about?

And gods help her, she was liking it. _I shouldn't like it…_ But it brought her an overwhelming sense of comfort, of joy.

The silence was getting to Elia. "Lya…"

"How would you prove it to me?"

Pulling back slightly, Elia gaped. "What?"

"You… you heard me…" There was a hitch in Lyanna's voice, belying her nervousness. As if she would lose her will at the drop of the hat.

Moons of self-control snapped. Her body realizing that it was now or never, Elia surged forward, covering her sister-wife in a warm and loving kiss.

Lyanna didn't know what to think at the moment. This was not what she was expecting at all.

"Elia…" Lyanna, pushed with her arms, putting a gap between them. Taking a deep breath as her head spun. "What… what are you doing?" She knew, but it was overwhelming.

Breathing heavily herself, the Dornish Princess felt like if fire was coursing through her. Her fantasies, her dreams, none compared to the real thing. Not with Rhaegar and certainly not with Lyanna. "I can't stop…" Elia said. _I'm forever addicted..._ "I've been wanting this for a while now."

"But.. but…"

She was cut off as Elia pressed a finger to her lips. "I didn't expect it either. It… you caught me by surprise, just you." The she-wolf's eyes widened - Elia telling her that the same attraction Ellaria held for women only applied in Elia's case for her. "Let me pleasure you." After an interminable length of time, she only nodded. Elia smirked and dove in again, tongue begging for entrance. Slowly and torturously given in by the dazed woman. _I shouldn't be doing this…_ But oh did she want to...

Thankfully, little Egg just needed his father's attention. Rubbing his face tiredly, he nodded to both Oswell and Barristan at his door - Arthur and Gerold given the night off. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, your Grace."

Opening the door, Rhaegar yawned as he entered. Wanting to just fall on the bed and pray for death… until the mere glimpse out of the corner of his eye turned into a widened stare. Jaw dropping at the scene before him. _Seven bloody hells…_ Both of his brides locked in a passionate embrace, something out of the life of Aegon I or Maegor. "My loves…" he breathed.

Too consumed in each other, their husband's arrival surprised the princesses. Almost groggy, Lyanna found him with a slightly surprised expression. "Rhaegar, I…"

"How long has this been going on?" he asked, no longer tired.

A bit perturbed at the interruption, Elia found a rather… excited part of her husband that turned her mood around. "Just happened, of which you have perfect timing." It was all as new to her as it was with Lyanna, but based on her certainty and the northerner's daze, she would have to take charge. "Come here, my Prince." Sultrily, she beckoned him over with a finger.

Mouth dry, Rhaegar looked at his other bride, who seemed to gain lucidity. Glancing at both, her hesitance was overcome by her lust. "Yes… come here." Lyanna wanted them both, and at least her husband would ground her. Could steady her emotions with the whirlwind of new feelings bound to come with her way.

Slowly, a smirk spread out on Rhaegar's face. "I always did want to be Aegon the Conqueror. I have the looks," he said as he began to untie the laces on his tunic. "I have Blackfyre." Off it came, dazzling his brides - Elia peeling off her own gown. "And now I have the brides. All I need is a dragon."

Elia stood, pressing her nude body against his as they kissed. "I have my dragon in front of me."

Almost falling apart on the spot at the two absolutely stunning creatures embracing passionately, Lyanna's hand absentmindedly drifted to between her legs. Rubbing the pooling wetness over her underclothes. An action noticed by the two of them. "Enjoying the view?"

"You're beautiful…" she murmured.

The prince chuckled. "I think she's referring to you, wife."

"Or both of us," Elia laughed. "You're overdressed, Lya."

"Do something about it." A blush formed on her cheek, embarrassed at the wanton tone of her words… All was forgotten as two sets of hands descended on her shaking body, removing her clothes and filling the icy beauty with warmth.

And this brought them to their current configuration, itself a series of fumbles and groping that their lust-addled minds glossed over. Lyanna laid on her back, head half-propped atop the down pillows as her tanned lover draped her skin on hers. Kissing her feverishly, hands tangled in her head while Lyanna's hesitantly touched her waist. "I've dreamed of this," Rhaegar husked from behind them both, teasing Elia's folds with his cock.

"So have I," Elia moaned at both their touches. "We're Targary… ooh yes…"

Lyanna tilted her head to the side to allow Elia more access to her neck. "Elia… oh…" she couldn't help but beg softly, moaning when Elia's lips travelled across a particularly sensitive spot on her neck. "Don't… don't… don't stop." There was no stopping. She had never craved a woman before… or anyone really before, but these two overwhelmed Lyanna's senses.

Elia's hands grabbed her breasts, running her thumbs across her nipples. "Oh gods…" Moons of visual appreciation couldn't compare with the real thing. "I know now how lucky you are, husband."

Lips sucked on Elia's bronzed neck, coaxing a moan from her. "I am the luckiest man alive," he murmured. With these beauties in his life… Rhaegar could be a common pauper and it'd still be true.

"Fuck," Lyanna hissed, hands trailing down to touch Elia's, feeling how pert and soft they were in her hands.

Elia's hand travelled lower, hand going between her legs to feel the silkiness of her cunt, already wet with her arousal. "She's so wet," she gasped. Elia touched a finger to her mouth, getting the taste on her tongue. Lyanna tasted like sweet nectar and Elia was immediately hooked on the taste. "Delicious."

"My favorite," her husband said, enjoying sharing this with his Dornish bride. "One of my favorites." Leaning down, hand grasping his straining cock to relieve the pressure, he attacked Elia's cunt with his tongue. Swiping up and down.

Bucking her hips, Elia's tongue had been trailing along Lyanna's buxom breasts - beautiful and meant to be sucked - when the sensations made her nearly fall over. Screaming in pleasure. "Gods… yes, husband." She urged Lyanna to sit up, which she did. "Isn't he amazing?"

"The best," Lyanna groaned, entranced by the sight of her sister-wife near her flower. "You are too."

Love surged through Elia, eyes sparkling before she took her first proper taste of a woman… At the same time Rhaegar sheathed himself inside her. Screams muffled by Lyanna's heat.

He was a Valyrian god… she was a Rhoynish nymph. Head struggling to remain upright to see everything going on, Lyanna committed to memory each tiny detail of her new life. Her new relationship… because by the old gods and new there was little chance she could give this up now. Elia's tongue plundered her nearly as well as Rhaegar's. Less forceful but with an instinct on how to pleasure her. Her hair soft and silky as the northerner tangled her fingers in it. Cheeks smooth against her thighs instead of the rough stubble of her husband. Lyanna found herself loving both sensations equally. Certainly her body did from the tightness in her abdomen rapidly reaching its crest.

Skin slapped on skin. The wooden headboard smacked against the wall rhythmically. Rhaegar pushed down on Elia's back, grabbing her neck and almost forcing her into Lyanna's cunt to fuck her harder. Groaning himself as she pushed back against every thrust, trying to bury him as deep as possible within her cunt. Kissing her womb. _Seven hells… I want to quicken her._ He wanted to quicken both of them again. To have their bellies swell with their babes, watch them filled with light and life as they had been. The urge, heightened at seeing them together, made him ravenous, fucking them harder with the stamina of a young dragon.

Moaning again, Elia lashed her tongue against Lyanna's nub. Smiling at her frantic moans, one hand gripping her hair in a vice while the other fisted the covers. Almost hurting her arm to bend itself, she decided to try a trick Rhaegar often used on her - without warning she slid three fingers deep in Lyanna's cunt. A sharp scream left the she-wolf, almost a howl. Intensifying her need to make them shatter. She fucked herself harder on Rhaegar's cock, fingers pistoning and curling faster as she approached her edge. Thinking the most delightful sound in the world being Lyanna's climax, the taste of her gushing fluids sparking her own. Milking Rhaegar's in the process.

For them, it was just the beginning.

Blinking in wonder, covered in a sheen of sweat, Lyanna shuddered in aftershocks from Elia's mouth before noticing the aforementioned sister-wife sliding off her. Rolling onto her back. "Oh gods… what are you doing?" Lyanna suddenly yelped as Rhaegar grabbed her legs and flipped her over. Starting to harden again, scorching skin pressing against her butt.

"What does it look like, Lya?" His voice was a dragon growl, almost making her cream right there.

"You're horrible…" she didn't mean it.

"You're delicious," Elia retorted with a smirk. Leaning up to kiss her once before she grabbed her hair, guiding her down. "But I've been told I am… _toooooo…_" It was her turn to be surprised, the reluctant and timid Lyanna - at least here - attacking Elia's cunt like a woman possessed. "Fuck… so… good…" Words failed her as she just accepted the pleasure.

Lyanna screamed into Elia's cunt when Rhaegar took her, fingers gripping her ass. His familiar thrusts - pounding her with a force that could drill through marble - mixing with the unfamiliar taste of a woman's juices to cloud her mind with a swirling brew. It was a… unique taste. Earthy and savory, and there was no stopping her from swiping through it. Answering each forceful thrust against her inner walls by frantically licking, delighting in both the masculine grunts and feminine whimpers as Rhaegar tightened his grip and Elia pulled at her hair.

She wouldn't have given up her wedding night for the world, but somehow this seemed more intimate. Closer… more right… And it terrified her. Confused her. Led her to the most powerful climax of her young life when her two lovers erupted their fluids in each end of her.

"My loves…" Elia mewled.

"My Princesses…" Rhaegar grunted.

Lyanna had no words, just gasping for breath, heart beating out of her chest.

An hour later… many satisfying climaxes later, Elia laid in the middle of the bed curled against her sister-wife, Rhaegar spooning her from behind. A smile of contentment still hadn't died from her face - everything she had imagined had come true and more, the princess feeling a pure joy for the first time since she had held Rhaenys in her arms after childbirth. This was where she belonged, blessed by the blood of Mother Royne marriage to the dragon to soar above and beyond convention. _Rhaegar and Lyanna are mine, and I'm not letting them go._

Behind her, Rhaegar slept soundly. The worry lines that constantly marred his face were gone, leaving something serene and youthful. Untouched by the stresses of duty and honor. Something innate in the spirit of the dragon had returned to the line of Aegon the Conqueror, lost long before when the Conciliator bowed to the Faith. A sense of wonder, of defying the world… for dragons answered to neither gods nor men. Both would deny him the loves of his life, and yet the mighty dragon roared defiantly at them. They were his, and he was theirs.

At the edge of her bed, Lyanna laid on her back. Utterly exhausted from the tremors of pleasure that rocked her, and yet nowhere close to sleep. It was a feeling that she was familiar with, she and Rhaegar no stranger to depraved acts of passion in their own bed… and yet the thin, soft form of the honey-toned Dornishwoman against her side - arms wrapped around her while Rhaegar's weaved into her hand - confessed the tempest in her heart.

_I made love to both of them…_

_To Elia… my best friend…_

How had this happened? Yet she knew the answer. _Because I wanted to… because she is as irresistible as he is…_ They both enchanted Lyanna, Rhaegar from the moment she saw him and Elia gradually - more and more as she got to know how strong the seemingly frail princess was.

"I shouldn't do this…" It was wrong and defied all convention. But since when did the She-Wolf of Winterfell conform her carefree spirit to convention? Every longing look, every gentle caress, every soft pair of lips on her body. Gods… Lyanna just wanted more and more.

As if their touch could heal her pain. Looking at their sleeping forms, Lyanna squeezed Rhaegar's hand and kissed Elia's brow. "I love you," she murmured as she nodded off. Not knowing which she whispered to.

* * *

Maegor Targaryen had many enemies. Hells, all Targaryens at the time did as the freshness of the conquest faded from the new generation of zealous warriors of the Seven, but it was Maegor that took a stand. It was he that refused to bend and scrape for the Most Devout or Faith Militant. Many immolated under the dragon fire of Balerion the Dread, but for those needing interrogation and torture… his architects and masons designed the Black Cells.

As Aerys waited in the chambers carved deep into Aegon's High Hill, he couldn't help but realize how apt the name was. While enough air drifted through the various corridors leading to the bay, the only light was what the torches created. Leaving a pitch blackness for the condemned to endure.

Such made the stench and dampness all the more bearable. It was perfect for the plans Aerys had in his mind once the traitors revealed themselves.

"Are we sure this is a workable plan, your Grace?" asked Jon Connington. The immaculate knight of the Stormlands looked distinctly uncomfortable to be here, which amused the King. His favorite pastime was making people uncomfortable - it exposed their truths.

"Don't fuckin' ask me, Connington. Ask the drunk here. He said it would work."

Swaying from the three flagons of Dornish red he had consumed the hours before, Thoros of Myr managed to mask his discomfort. "It may work, your Grace. Legend has it that this was how Vhagar was birthed on Dragonstone…"

"You see!" The King poked Connington in the chest. "Told you."

"Aye, your Grace," the Hand replied. Thoros said nothing - with Melisandre gone he was the leader of the Red Temple delegation, much to his chagrin. She knew more about these rituals, and even she knew little of the blood magic. It had been centuries before anyone actually did the rituals lost to the doom of Valyria. "I would prefer the more… experienced Priestess conduct this." It was as if the ginger was reading his mind.

Aerys rolled his eyes. "Well I would too, but that bitch is with my son in half-breed land. My Lord Paramount of the Vale died under suspicious circumstances, so we're not taking any chances." Pycelle dubbed Jon Arryn's death from an acute inflammation of the bowels, but the King suspected foul play. Some kind of magic by the hands of Tywin and Jenny. When the door opened, he grinned. "Ah, the show begins."

Alliser Thorne and several other guards muscled in a hooded figure. Squirming and writhing as he begged for mercy. "Please! I haven't done anything! I'm loyal!" At the King's direction, Thorne removed the hood to reveal a disheveled, worked over hedge knight. "Your Grace !" he wailed. "I am loyal! Show mercy!"

Behind the guards was Varys, distinctly emotionless as he rattled off the man's crime. "This hedge knight in the service of Lord Loren Payne," everyone knew the name of Tywin Lannister's closest friend… the man had few friends. "Had been found guilty of speaking out against the divine right of His Grace to rule."

"Please! No! They're all lies!"

"By the order of King Aerys, Second of His Name, he has been sentenced to death."

Everyone knew what the knight was guilty of. Prince Viserys overheard him spreading a jape about the King having betrothed his son to Lyanna Stark so he could have Joanna Lannister's daughter for himself - the truth told by Varys did not match the tale Viserys spun for Connington about Lannister plots. Nevertheless, what better way to conceal the truth about Lord Arryn's death than to feed it into the King's delusions. "Be done with it," Connington ordered, gesturing to the impromptu stake.

If the Hedge Knight didn't realize how fucked he was before, he certainly did now. Screams were quickly followed by the fresh odor of warm piss… though it wasn't much worse than the natural stink. The pleas drew no reaction from the King, who watched with a scowl as the knight was tied. As the servants brought the black egg. As he regarded the cold surface, desperate to feel the life inside. Unable to, he waved them to place it among the fetters.

"So what now?" he snapped at Thoros.

Even close to blindness, the drunk priest wish he had another goblet. "Um… you… hic… light the pyre with the… hic… flames of the Lord of Light."

"Your Grace! Mercy!"

Aerys ignored the knight. "I'll do you better. Rossart!" The spindly Pyromancer darted forward, beady eyes flicking across the room as he brought the jar of wildfire forth. Emptying it gently over the fetters, the egg, and the feet of the knight. Already the noxious smell permeated the room, making many gag - and Thoros ache. The smell was unholy, the flames equally unholy. This would never work with such blasphemous fire.

But he didn't tell the King that. "Go ahead," he croaked, resolved to pass out for at least a half-day after this. At a nod from the King, Rossart grinned and took a flint to a short fuse. Darting back once it caught, soon engulfing the poor knight in the wild green fire.

There was a… force deep in his soul that drew Aerys to the flames. To any flame, a sort of desperate longing present since his childhood. Much as his uncle - Brightflame - but not mad. Never mad, for fire wasn't something to take lightly. It was his birthright. His very blood. My blood. House Targaryen had once bent the eternal hellsfires to its will, and Aerys yearned to be the one to once more harness the great power.

But as the green flames licked up from the fetters, scorching the poor hedge knight's legs to blackened husks as his screams echoed through the dungeons, Aerys felt something else. A different sort of power. One that had been taken away by the Lady of Duskendale. Her black magic polluting and desecreating his very being - for years Aerys had escaped it. Fought it. Isolated himself from all he had once cared about to banish the helplessness and pain… only for the fires the give himself control. To rescue him, as it had before.

_Lady Serala of Myr, tongue torn out as well as her womb, all burned alive as the entire Targaryen army watched._ He would never forget the woman that tortured him, the parts that brought him such misery, purified in the fires. Destroyed by the fires.

His weakness was destroyed by the power of House Targaryen.

Thorne was aghast.

Connington wished he were elsewhere.

Varys tucked his lips in a hard to read expression.

Rossart seemed bored.

Thoros was glad he was drunk.

Aerys, his eyes glistened. Sitting straighter, each new scream bringing new life to the King. His cock hard as rock for the first time in years.

When it was over, and the corpse was nothing but a pile of ashes, the servants poked through the fetters for the egg. Finding it unhatched - the ritual a failure.

Yet, Aerys didn't care. For once, the smile on his face was unavoidable even in failure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Lyanna... you've fallen hard and will never get up.
> 
> I hope y'all like how Doran was portrayed (like as in felt was an accurate portrayal).
> 
> Next time, Lyanna reflects on someone very new in her life :D
> 
> If I get 35 comments, I'll update on monday :)


	40. Jon Targaryen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. Hope y'all are doing well. Glad everyone took the trio formation well :)
> 
> One comment attacked my portrayal of Rhaegar as weak, so allow me to address it: Rhaegar wants to be a dutiful son, but as of now his goal is to avoid bloodshed. The Blackfyre Rebellions nearly destroyed the Realm, and no one wants that. I can't believe people don't understand this.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

For a Lord of the North, the fragrance of incense smoke wafting into his nostrils irritated Rickard. Forcing him to stifle a sneeze on more than one occasion. "Damn you southerners."

Looking up from his ignominious perch, Tyrion smirked. "What is it this time, Lord Stark. We just witnessed you finally ceasing your complaints on having a Royal Executioner."

_The man who passes the sentence must swing the sword._ House Stark's adherence to the Old Way was likely why they never fared well south of the Neck… not without ruthlessness bordering on brutality. But he was too stubborn to give it up. "It just galls me why any man would want their body gawked over like that."

Tyrion shrugged. "To each their own, I suppose."

Below, the ceremony for Lord Jon Arryn of the Eyrie continued unabated. His aged body had been cleaned up of the bloodstains, clothes in a knight's armor and finery as would befit him. The King's Landing chapter of the Order of the Silent Sisters attended to his body in the customary ritual prior to tomorrow's departure for the Eyrie, head pointing towards the Stranger as two colored stones rested atop his eyes - shut forever.

"Gods, how Brandon can tolerate this with such ease is beyond me." All northerners had to put up with the Faith of the Seven, but most did so only grudgingly. His eldest, however, was nonplussed.

"He's an adventurer, like my uncle Gerion. The new and the exotic… however mundane excites him I bet."

_An adventurer._ For Rickard, it seemed as if Brandon had taken Olenna's words to heart even without hearing them. Spending more time sparring with the Kingsguards than learning the ways of the court - almost as if he didn't wish to become Lord of Winterfell? Rickard put it out of his mind. "It irritates me greatly that these fools wield so much power. The Reach, Westerlands, and Stormlands survived Andal attack just as the North did. Why didn they cave?"

"The numerous don't win. The loudest and fiercest conquer them. They fought for so long that even the Targaryens were brought to heel."

Rickard glances down at the Imp. "They weren't brought to heel. The Conciliator made compromises to obtain peace."

"Exactly, brought to heel. Even Jaehaerys' daughter had to become a Septa… that must have made Maegor and Visenya roll in their graves," Tyrion laughed. "Face facts, my Lord. Only a dragon can challenge the Faith, and even then it's a close run thing."

Blinking, even Rickard had to accede to that. _Rhaegar would murder anyone that suggested giving Rhaenys to the Faith._ Ironic, their mutual dislike of the Andal traditions were what bonded him and his goodson in the first place. "A dragon or a direwolf." The sounds of boots against the smooth marble of the Sept of Baelor drew his attention left. "The place is crawling with Lannisters, I see."

Tyrion turned to see his brother arriving in the full armor of a kingsguard - minus the helm. "Brother, this is unexpected. Where is your… I mean the Queen?" he asked with a knowing twinkle.

Jaime rolled his eyes at his brother. "Lord Stark."

"Ser Jaime. I didn't realize you were off duty," Rickard said sternly.

"I'm not, Lord Stark. Her Grace wished for me to deliver her respects to Lord Arryn since she's… indisposed." He winced at the last.

Rickard felt an uneasy feeling in his stomach. "Indisposed?" _Did the King…_ From his perturbed expression, Tyrion worried along the same lines.

"Officially, she has fallen ill with a cough. Unofficially… Prince Viserys is in a bad mental state."

While both felt relieved that Rhaella wasn't hurt, the matter was rather concerning. "He hasn't been in a good way since the incident, either," Rickard mused.

"A euphemism for the mood a brothel patron holds when he finds a stick and stones underneath the dress he paid for."

Jaime quirked an eyebrow at Tyrion. "Speak from experience, _little_ brother?"

Of all those that could legitimately make dwarf jokes to him, Jaime was one. "I'd rather not say," he smirked. "But yes, I can hear the poor boy's tantrums and fits from rooms away." Granted, many of those were sobbing rather than shouting. "He hasn't been the same since seeing Lya attacked by his Grace."

That only brought Rickard pain at the memories, but he pushed them back. "I fear he's only getting closer and closer to his father's way of thinking." He turned to Jaime. "The Queen, is she taking it well?"

It was Jaime's turn to feel pain for his loved ones. "Since Rhaegar left… she hasn't left Viserys' side. I fear she blames herself." The Queen put on a brave face, but Jaime knew every single one of the tells on her beautiful face. "The tension only grows in the Red Keep."

"I'm glad you bring that up, Ser Jaime." Clearing his throat, Rickard looked at Tyrion. "I've been conversing with your father, and we've both agreed you should be sent back to Casterly Rock."

This was surprising. "I…" The Imp gaped. "I doubt my father would say that."

"He's still your father, Tyrion," Jaime interjected. "While he thinks little of you, you are still his blood."

"Oh, I am moved by his level of concern," he replied sarcastically. "But why must I leave? I've been learning so much under your tutelage."

"You have, and I do not doubt you will be a powerful administrator in your own right years in the future, but I have to think of your safety."

"What about my safety?"

Rickard sighed. "If a falcon isn't safe here, what chance does a lion have?"

_Witty._ Tyrion pointed at Jaime. "You're a lion."

"The King enjoys tormenting me too much to kill me," Jaime reluctantly admitted. "I'm a piece of furniture to rub his feet on. You… are more Lannister than most care to admit. That threatens your life, especially with the King's… new pastime."

"What?"

Jaime gulped. "Wildfire. He's taken to burning prisoners in the black cells alive."

Gulping, that… wasn't a proper image to fill his mind. "Still…"

His brother interrupted, shushing him. "Tyrion, I love you, you know that. Aunt Genna is right when she says that you have our father's wit, but the fact is you talk too much, and that might cost you a hand - or those vicious cunts the gods are, your life."

Opening his mouth to retort, Tyrion nevertheless deflated. "I suppose you're right. I mean, I haven't made the eight yet"

Rickard raised a brow. "Made the eight?"

"It's when you make love to a woman in all the Kingdoms in the span of one year," Tyrion laughed.

Running a hand through his aging face, the Lord of Winterfell suppressed a groan "Gods, I hate the southerners." That even managed to get a smirk from the Lion of Lannister.

* * *

"Aaah… my loves…"

Gods be good, there was a headboard to their bed in the royal cabin. Sturdy ironwood, it barely budged as Lyanna gripped it - steadying herself as the man she married lavished her cunt with his tongue. The tall northerner rode his face with relish. "Please… need…" Whatever words wanted to come out morphed into unintelligible moans.

Behind her, two soft hands gripped her waist. "Yes… fuck…" Hand moving to flip her hair to the side, Lyanna looked over her shoulder and the sight took her breath away for the dozenth time that night. Elia was frantically bouncing on Rhaegar's cock, raven hair fallen haphazardly over her face in a sheen - most likely tangled after she was in the same position Lyanna was over her own mouth. Thinking of her taste only fueled Lyanna's lust further, bucking harder on Rhaegar's face. Knowing he could take it.

They were both savage in bed and she was hopelessly lost.

Seeing Lyanna lose control made Elia growl. "Yes, husband… defile her cunt." She mewled, rising so that the dragon cock almost left her sheath... only to piston downward. Biting her lip to keep the screams down. Rhaegar was splitting her open and she adored it - just as he had split Lyanna open only half an hour before. Elia still tasted his seed from lapping it out of her she-wolf's cunt before they took this position. "Oh, I love you both," she gasped out.

Rhaegar grunted something, almost an 'I love you too,' as he speared into Lyanna's cunt. Hands reaching up to cup the heaving breasts… only to find Elia's tanned fingers there already. His wife greedily taking his other wife's luscious globes for her own. Thumbing the nipples and making Lyanna further wet his tongue. Bucking his hips harder into her, Rhaegar followed Elia's arms to grab her breasts. Making her moan. He felt like the Conqueror, inner dragon roaring.

One hand holding up her hair in tangled clumps, the other held the headboard tight so she could give Elia more access. Craving her touch… and later her tongue as the Dornishwoman leaned forward to lick her neck. "Eli...a!" she moaned until she screamed, Rhaegar swiping at her nub with his fingers while he stabbed into her clenching walls. Triggering her climax, frantically grabbing at the woman behind her for a hungry kiss. Neck straining but worth it.

Her lips were softer than Rhaegar's, but Lyanna liked that. _Gods… I love it…_ It was so overwhelming.

Tasting everything she gave him, Rhaegar fucked up into Elia like a man possessed. Hitting her wombhead until the Dornish Princess became too much for him. He could feel her walls tightening, almost squeezing him out. The sound of their skin colliding filled their cabin, Elia abandoning all restraint, howling as she shattered. Riding him without control, triggering his sudden burst of seed.

One by one the two ladies collapsed bonelessly. Half atop their husband, sweat and saliva coated cheeks mashed against Rhaegar's chest. Quickly grasping out for whatever part of the two others they could hold. "This was worth the wait," Rhaegar ended up saying, chuckling.

Lyanna loved how his chest moved as he laughed. "It was. I… I can't get enough."

Wits starting to come back to her, Elia pulled the furs to cover their trembling bodies. "Me neither. I love you both." It wasn't long before their exhaustion took all of them.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Lyanna woke. Thankfully she had drifted to the edge of the bed - unlike most nights at sea, where her loves would envelop her in the middle with tight embraces. Yes, Elia's hand as wrapped tightly around her stomach while Rhaegar's draped over the Dornishwoman's slender form to grip her hip, but it didn't take much effort to slip out. Creep on the wooden deck till she could grab a nightshirt and cloak to quickly don.

The join between her legs ached from the constant attention of her two lovers - not that Lyanna truly minded. The northern beauty's gaze drifted back to the bed. Covers mostly kicked off in the southern heat, Elia had turned to cuddle against their husband. Bodies exposed to the moonlight. Lyanna bit back a moan at how delectable they were, Rhaegar's hard muscles and Elia's lithe curves both threatening to reignite a fire within her. _Perhaps I should just crawl back and wake them…_

She shook her head. Almost dashing out of the cabin and closing the door behind her. Leaning against the wall to calm the heat that was overcoming her. _I need air… I need to think…_ And yet Lyanna had almost given into her lust for both delectable bodies. It surprised her… how little it bothered her. How little it bothered her every night since leaving Sunspear. _I could make love to Elia forever…_

"Focus, Lyanna Targaryen," she murmured to herself, taking in a deep breath and heading for the deck.

What few sailors were still manning the ship were clustered towards the stern, so Lyanna took a perch at the bow. Alone except for the moon and the stars, she placed her hands on the railing. Wishing that the smooth wood were of the Heart Tree at Winterfell. Connected to the old gods as she was in her childhood. To seek clarity, to seek answers on the tempest that had become her life.

"Do I love her?" she asked the emptiness… perhaps of the gods. "Does she love me?'

_"She loves you not…"_ came a reply. One seductive… yet eerie at the same time. Like a sweet nothing whispered in her ear. _"She's using you… betraying you… protecting her brood…"_

A cold sweat forming on her skin, Lyanna suddenly felt a calming wave. _"No,"_ whispered another voice, innocent and firm. _"She loves you… they both do. And you love them."_

And as quickly as they both came, they stopped. Silence. "What?" Lyanna called out. "What are you saying?" The wind answered not, merely sending her loose chestnut hair billowing towards the front of the ship.

Hearing feet upon the deck, Lyanna knew who it was before she looked. "Following me, Ben?

Her brother and kingsguard huffed. "That cursed wolf hearing of yours."

"Don't be angry at me that Ned and I got the wolfsblood while you and Brandon didn't."

"Alright, alright. I know the two of you could sneak on a hare in a field of dry leaves while Bran and I can't go five seconds without stepping on a stick." It truly was a joy. After lives of assuming he would go to the Wall and she would marry some southern lordling, the two of them practically were fated in the same place for their lives. _Two winter wolves against the whole of the Andal Court._ Like one of those ballads Old Nan would always read them."But, there's something to do when you're as loud as a bear."

Her eyebrow rose a moment before Lyanna caught on. Cheeks ripening and eyes widening. "Oh gods…" She buried her head in her hands. "Fuck, you heard us?"

"Even the fishes heard you, Lya." Unlike Ned, who'd probably scorch his ears, Benjen found it hilarious. "I have to be honest, I've always wondered what two women do to… you know… find pleasure…"

"I don't want to discuss this with my little brother!"

A shrug from Benjen "I'm sure whatever you do do works, cause I sometimes hear feminine squeals without a corresponding princely grunt…"

Lyanna was totally and completely mortified - especially since she knew exactly what he was referring to. A moment the night before where Elia laid on top of her and they both pleasured each other simultaneously while Rhaegar watched… "Please stop." It was both humiliating and arousing to speak of it.

Laughing, Benjen smacked her on the back. "Forgive me, my Princess, but japing you is just impossible to resist." His chuckles died down. "But seriously. Arthur and Dacey aren't wasting time practicing for their next babe. As someone who doesn't have a beautiful maiden in his bed, why aren't you taking advantage?"

Beyond the adolescent japes, Benjen's question was actually a pertinent one. "I… I don't know." Her emotions just hadn't been able to take root anywhere. "I never felt this way about a woman… well, not even for a man before Rhaegar, but at least I expected it to happen."

Benjen took a moment to process the question. "I know less than you do, but I see it as this - you didn't lust after Robert, did you?"

"Not in the slightest." She didn't need to think about it.

"Aye, and he's supposedly irresistible to maidens or matrons." Lyanna cast him a quizzical look, but he continued. "It had to be fate that you saw Rhaegar in that clearing moons ago. I mean, gods, what a coincidence could it have been? If the gods wanted that to happen, then falling for Elia may be what they want too. Just go with it."

"You sound like Bran… but you may have a point." Staring at the half moon high in the sky, soft light glittering over the waves gently rocking the ship, Lyanna sighed. Feeling a cool breeze against her skin - eminently bearable for a northerner to handle. "Winter is non-existent here" she murmured.

"Aye," Benjen chuckled, leaning against the railing. "Fuckin' surreal 'in it? Feels more like a balmy summer to me."

"We wolves aren't meant to be here."

Head turning, the kingsguard's eyebrow rose. "I wouldn't go that far, sister. Ned probably belongs in the North. Father too, when it comes down to it." The two of them were just like the snowy landscape of their home. Ice to the core - dutiful and brooding, able to handle the unforgiving climate. "Brandon probably belongs on the seas going wherever he wishes. Me… I'm fine everywhere. But you… you're basically as much a dragon as a wolf. Flying, fierce, and free."

She shook her head. "I believed that, Ben. Gods, I believed that… only for it all to be torn away from me the moment I let my guard down."

_Oh no…_ "I thought you were healing from that?" he asked hesitantly. Seeing her happy in the Water Gardens - or the weeks before they left - it gave the assumption that Lyanna Targaryen had recovered from her trauma. _Were we all wrong?_

"The wounds have healed, but there are still scars." She closed her eyes. "I fear I can't be as cunning as Elia. As strong as Rhaegar."

"You're the strongest person I know," Benjen replied firmly. He snorted. "You sound like Ned right now, brooding after a night of passion few are able to enjoy without forking out coin." She sent a tiny glare his way, but Ben shrugged it off. "What brought all of this on? Brooding doesn't suit you."

Biting her lip, Lyanna's hand drifted to her abdomen. Cupping it gingerly. Reverently touching as if the most precious of treasures nestled within.

It took a moment for Benjen to comprehend - his eyes widened. "A babe…"

She nodded. "Yes." Lyanna didn't meet his eyes. "You're the first to know, Ben." Even cocooned by the loving embraces of Rhaegar and Elia, both adoring her more than what Lyanna had once thought possible, she couldn't find the strength to tell them. Hells, she barely was able to process the fact she made love to both of them every night since leaving Sunspear.

"How do you know?" The signs of before… the fatigue and stomach malady, they weren't present.

"A mother knows," Lyanna chuckled mirthlessly. "It's a boy in there, too. A darling little Prince, every inch his father no matter whom among us he takes his coloring after." But she knew. There was no doubt the powerful young man in the dream long seared in her memory was the babe growing inside her now. _Jon..._

Wordlessly, Benjen drew his sister into an embrace. "I'm gonna be an uncle."

Pain seized her. "If he survives…"

"Don't say that. He will, if I have to lay down my life to do it." He watched her quirk a tiny smile. "You should tell Rhaegar and Elia. They will be thrilled."

"I hope." Now was the worst time for her to be with child… but Lyanna knew Rhaegar would be happy. Elia as well, for it was clear as day that the Dornish Princess loved her with every fiber of her being. She would love this babe too… concieved on the night Elia… _So he has a little bit of all of us, I suppose._ Such brought her a tender warmth, the thought of Elia being as much a mother to her son as she was. "Ben…"

His greys found hers. "Yes, Lya?"

"Tell no one about this. Not until I'm ready. Please?"

Benjen couldn't refuse her. "As you wish, your Grace." He tightened his embrace, letting his fierce older sister take a filial comfort in his arms. "My sword and shield are yours to command."

Normally irritated by the formalities, Lyanna smiled into his shoulder. She smelled the same salty pine of the North on his tunic. Without a heart tree to take solace in, the caring arms of her brother would be enough for now.

And from the stern of the ship, the Red Witch turned away from the brother and sister. Vindication written on her face as she walked away. The Promised was here, the Promised anointed. Two remained, the ones who would fly alongside, but it did not matter.

The great Rhaegar and his brides proved they were who the Lord meant for her to serve. _They only must survive the trials ahead._

_R'hllor… bless them..._

* * *

Nimble and toned, eight and ten-year old Stannis Baratheon was quick on his feet. Forms fluid as his blade glided through the air. More than a match for whomever unlucky sod came at him in battle or on the training ground.

But even he couldn't face the raw animal fury of his older brother. Even weilding a wooden training hammer, Robert Baratheon engaged anyone that faced him like a demon charging at its prey. Powerful swings almost knocking his opponents' weapons out of their hands. Impressive bulk swung around like a battering ram - not that he didn't hold another impressive organ well-used in such a maneuver. It didn't take long for Robert to crash into Stannis, sending him sprawling with a mighty swing clattering the blade to the ground.

Stannis held up his hands. "Yield."

Tossing his training hammer to Meryn Trant, Robert bellowed out a laugh. "Fuck, brother. If I wanted to fight a pansy, I'd have invited Renly to spar with me." He gestured to the scrawny younger brother, leaning against a column with a dreamy look on his face. That had been his norm ever since returning from the crossroads inn, not that Robert gave a fuck. The Lord of Storm's End snapped over a servant. "Bring me wine, and be quick about it!"

Easing himself to his feet, Stannis struggled not to cup his bruised stomach. Not wanting to show weakness in front of his brothers. "Serves me right for challenging you to a spar after that letter from Casterly Rock."

Downing his cups, Robert tossed the goblet to the floor in anger. "Tywin fucking Lannister. He'd be lucky for me to marry his daughter, Bitch of the West." He spread his arms out. "He may shit gold, but I'm more priceless than the nugget that rips his asshole to shreds."

"Did you want to marry Cersei Lannister, brother?" Renly asked.

"That's not the fuckin' point." Luckily, another servant arrived with more wine. _Not much better than a drink after a fight._ The juicy deer he bagged two days ago would be, while something else he ordered procured was better than both. "She'll probably have tits that sag like a cow's udder in a few years - it's the principle involved. No one rejects Robert of House Baratheon."

"Someone did," muttered Stannis under his breath.

Retiring to his chambers, Robert immediately stripped off his sweat-stained clothes. Enjoying the cool breeze hitting his nude body. Teeth clenching from the stress of it all, he walked to the far wall across from his bed. There - mounted on several hooks in the stone and flanked by two black and yellow stag banners of House Baratheon and House Durrandon before it - was the family's ancestral warhammer. Stormbreaker, it was called, a treasured heirloom born by Durrandon conquerors as Arlan I and III who subjugated half of Westeros and Argilac the Arrogant. Taken by Orys Baratheon and wielded by Baratheon lords ever since. An august history now passed to him.

Picking it up in his burly hands, Robert drifted to the looking glass his bodyservants used to dress him for the day. Admiring his nude figure. Trim legs, v-shaped waist, bulging abs and chest that proclaimed him the finest specimen of man. Thick arms larger than some men's legs - a sturdy, handsome face sheathed by thick brown hair and close-cropped beard. And a monstrous cock, veteran of much plunder of the most beautiful women in Westeros, both high and low born.

All except one… the only one he truly desired with every part of his heart and soul.

He was the very epitome of his House, strapping and powerful. Holding the warhammer in his hands, he felt the call of his ancestors. The strength of his blood. The power of their words.

_Ours is the Fury…_

Robert trembled with the demands of his house's words. Desiring to claim the ultimate prize cruelly denied to him. Wanting to deliver the fury on those that wronged him. Upon the King. Upon Lord Rickard. Upon Tywin Lannister. Perhaps even upon Ned… And most of all…

"RHAEGAR!" Bellowing at the top of his lungs, his trembling hands gripped Stormbreaker in an iron hold as he brought it down upon an expensive dresser. Splitting the imported wood in two, clothes and splinters shooting everywhere. "You stole my Lyanna from me!" Another swing decapitated a long candlestick, Valyrian steel slicing through bronze as if it were butter. "Face my fury like a man, dragonspawn!" Robert swung downward with such a force that it cracked the very floor beneath him.

He dreamed it was Rhaegar's chest.

"My Lord?"

So consumed by his bitter rage, Robert hadn't noticed his door opening. Nor the attractive young women stepping in. Leaning Stormbreaker against his shoulder with a casual flair, he regarded how she didn't seem to be fazed by his nudity as most servant girls did - that told him plenty. "Did my steward pay you yet?"

"Yes," the whore told him frankly. "Two gold dragons."

"Ah, the whole night. Good."

"I'll require moon tea for this."

_Damn…_ It was less enjoyable when the woman refused to be bred - but gazing at her long legs, buxom breasts, and dark brown hair Robert knew he could power through it. The woman resembled his long-lost love in almost every detail. "Tis fine," he murmured, moving to a flagon of wine and guzzling down the sweet liquid. "But you better not care what I call you."

She smiled at him. "Not at all, my Lord." Aside from the smell of alcohol and general attitude, Robert Baratheon was good looking and reeked of a loose spender. A better client than the fat, stag-pinching merchants and lordlings she usually served. Wordlessly, she unlaced her loose dress, revealing her naked body in all her glory.

Setting his warhammer against the wall, Robert wasted no time in grabbing the whore in his arms. Lips sloppily taking hers as they fell upon the bed. "Lyanna…" he whispered harshly, assaulting her neck and breasts with his bites. Roughly shoving two fingers in her. "My Lyanna…"

"Yes, yours, my Lord," replied the whore, thankful she had pleasured herself before coming here. Had she not been wet, this would have hurt.

Barely half a minute of foreplay enough for him, Robert angled his cock and stabbed into her cunt. Gasping at how tight it was. "Gods, Lya…" He set a brutal pace. "Beg me - beg me to fuck the Dragonspawn out of you." Mind clouded with lust, he began to believe it was truly happening.

_Does he mean Princess Lyanna?_ The whore didn't care, though. Coin was coin, even if she rather did like Targaryen rule. "Please fuck him out of me, Lord Baratheon."

Her words didn't have Lya's northern lilt, but he could conjure it in his fantasies. "My wife. My wife… Mine!" Erupting quickly, powerfully, the image that flashed before his eyes was of the dragonspawn dead at his feet, Lyanna herself begging for his cock beneath him. A black-haired babe born not long after… a worthy heir to his greatness. "Lyanna…"

* * *

Lacing her dress in what she thought was the perfect bow, Dacey studied it in the looking glass for several seconds before cursing. Pulling it out and starting all over again. She huffed in annoyance when two arms wrapped around her swelling waist. "You're breaking my concentration, Arthur."

Arthur chuckled against her neck, enjoying how her breath hitched. "If you 'concentrate' any harder, I think your head will rupture."

"Well it's your family I'll have to meet today," she shot back, irritation hiding an immense worry for what was to transpire. For moons she had heard stories about the wise and noble Althos Dayne, the charming Alaric Dayne, and the renowned beauty Ashara Dayne. A great Dornish family against the wild northerner bearing the Sword of the Morning's babe in her belly - a babe that would never hold the Dayne name. "I have to get dressed."

"We dock in an hour. I think you should get undressed." His hands moved to undo her laces…

Only to have them slapped away. "Oh no you don't, Arthur Dayne." Dacey shook her head, but was unable to stop a grin. "Last night and right before dawn wasn't enough to sate you?"

"What can I say?" he husked in her ear, licking the shell. "You are irresistible, especially in your condition." Her irritation dropped away, replaced with a moan - heat filling the join of her legs. But just then Arthur stood. Dacey watching through the glass as he grabbed Dawn and began tying it to his belt. "But as you said, we're going to dock soon and I think their Grace's want us there."

She found his eyes, a put out expression on her face. "You just know they're entangled together right now, Arthur." Luckily, he hadn't put on his armor - opting for a more casual padded leather cuirass now that he was returning home. Dacey rose, shimmying under the same forest green dress she used to tempt him all those moons ago and dropped her smallclothes "I don't have to undress for you to satisfy me."

Always so stern and chivalrous, the lecherous glint of Arthur Dayne's violet eyes never ceased to tintalate Dacey. Thus, when he pulled her to him, she gave no resistance - merely kissing him hungrily.

Half an hour later, the daughter of Bear Island quickly smoothed out some remaining wrinkles in her dress. "Trouble?" asked Lyanna, standing in front of her and looking over her shoulder. Dacey noticed a twinkle in her eye.

"No more than you," Dacey whispered back, grinning as the Princess blushed. A sigh followed, the she-bear hoping the mid-morning sun didn't scorch her fair skin. Ellaria had loaded her chest with several creams and salves bought at Planky Town, but the only thing that truly helped was shade. _Dorne doesn't like me…_ The thought made her bite her lip. Never was the fearless Mormont this nervous, but this was her lover's family. Her babe's family. Their opinion of her truly mattered. _Likely why the Martells upset Lya so much._ She hoped the Daynes would be different.

The Torrentine was a fast river. Running through valleys and canyons in a series of rapids and steep banks from the mountain springs in the Dornish Marches all the way to the ocean. But at the end it opened up into a flat valley, widening as it approached the bay. Right in the middle of this estuary was the island on which Starfall rested. Traced back to the earliest Dayne tracking a falling star, the sandstone walls jutted from the rocky crevices of the island - a natural barrier that allowed the Daynes to add to its beauty over the centuries. Inlaid against the green mountains and clear waters, Dacey marveled at it's beauty.

"Home sweet home," Arthur whispered in her ear.

_For you, at least…_ Dacey hoped it would be for her and the babe.

Noticing how the royals in front of her were ever so tense, it helped to know that she wasn't alone in worry. Yet hers was personal, theirs was even greater. _If the Daynes don't lend their support, then all of Dorne will be lost in the coming chaos._ A lot rested on their shoulders.

The docks were thankfully in the shade of the keep. River gentle so their mooring quite uneventful - passing by quickly. Dacey blinked when the Prince and Princesses parted to allow her a path. "They're your family, Arthur," remarked Rhaegar. "You should greet them first."

Arthur nodded. "Thank you, your Grace." Placing an arm around the small of Dacey's back, he guided her to the gangplank and escorted her down. "I can see them already," he said, joy in his voice. "They'll love you, I promise."

Dacey didn't have time to reply when a raven-haired woman dove into her lover's arms. "Arthur!" Far from his normal standoffishness to public displays of affection, the Sword of the Morning laughed merrily and twirled the girl around. "My heart can rest easy."

Setting her down, Arthur kissed her brow. "I have longed for the day I'd see you again, Ash." _Ash… Ashara Dayne…_ Dacey could only stare. "Brother," she heard Arthur say.

The handsome form of Alaric Dayne punched his older brother on the shoulder. "Doesn't a Kingsguard have to wear armor?"

"Not when he's meeting his idiot brother for the first time in years," Arthur retorted before the two burst out into laughter. It reminded Dacey of her and Jorah growing up, and it was heartening. "Who is this?" Attention shifted to a rather demure blonde lady, petite and quiet."

"Ah, this is Ynys, formerly of House Yronwood and my wife." Alaric threw an arm around her with a smile.

"You married? Without telling me?"

"Thought it'd be a good surprise… you certainly gave us one." Alaric gestured to Dacey. "This her?"

Before Arthur could reply, Ashara stepped between her brothers. "Not five minutes and you're already acting like fools in front of your ladies. Shame on you." Dacey grinned slightly - she liked Arthur's sister already. Reminded her of Lyanna. Ashara stepped forward, rather informal as she reached out and grabbed Dacey's shoulders. "You must be Dacey Mormont. I'm Ashara, and I've heard a lot about you."

Looking her over, Dacey studied the infamous beauty of House Dayne. The whispers didn't deceive - Ashara was striking. Raven hair tumbling over her shoulders, she was as tall as Dacey with haunting violet eyes. So violet that they rivaled even Rhaegar. Few could compare with her. "I'm glad to meet you as well… and I hope Arthur only said nice things in his letters." She cast her lover a wry glance.

"Oh, this one I like," Ashara immediately said, grinning madly. "I cannot wait to see my little nephew." Without another word, the beauty of Starfall threw her arms around Dacey, hugging her like a sister. A hug that Dacey returned.

"I thought the Kingsguards couldn't take lovers?" Alaric asked. The family had all come to terms that Arthur would be unattached and childless for the rest of his days, only for this to happen.

A sigh. "They can, only not marry or father legitimate children."

Alaric patted him on the back. "Well… good thing we're Dornish then. Father will likely dress you down, but that babe is our blood and we stick together."

Not long after, the Prince and Princesses made their way to the docks after the family reunion. Each of House Dayne knelt for Rhaegar before Ashara embraced Elia in an equally fierce hug. To be expected, for the two were like sisters growing up. "Marriage and royalty agree with you, my dear Elia… I mean, your Grace."

"As Lya would say, cut that horseshit out," Elia chuckled, drawing a smirk and a raised eyebrow from Ash.

"That sort of talk is refreshing from a highborn, though I would likely hold it against Dacey if it isn't a shared trait of the North."

Having heard nothing but wonderful things about Ashara Dayne, seeing her interact freely and happily with Dacey only reinforced what Elia spoke about her. Instinctively Lyanna knew that this was the kind of woman she would want for her brothers, a compliment that could be matched by no other. "It most certainly is a shared trait of the North."

Taking their customary positions - never trusting any household guards even though House Dayne was loyal - Ser Oswell found his newest brother utterly captivated. "Told you about Arthur's sister, didn't I?"

"No one could do her justice," Benjen murmured.

"She's your age I think, Ben," the white bull suggested. "And I think she's smiling at you."

"What…" Looking back at the Dornish beauty, sure enough those violet eyes were sparkling as they studied him. Benjen quickly looked away, trying to pass off his blush as heatstroke. "Fuck…" Both Gerold and Oswell chuckled at his expense.

Eventually, the group of theirs began its trek to the keep. "Any other Dornish houses answer the call?" Rhaegar asked Alaric, Arthur walking by his side.

Alaric shook his head, visibly deflating the Prince. "Not Dornish, but we did get someone interesting." Two sets of brows rose in question. "Titus Peake."

"Lord Titus Peake, of Starpike?" Rhaegar glanced back at Elia, finding her beaming - her plan worked.

"Didn't I say it was interesting? He learned you were coming here and rode from Starpike to seek guest right from my father. I've never seen a man so desperate to seek audience."

"I'll have to talk to Lord Althos before seeing him. Best figure out what in seven hells is going on." Rhaegar grinned softly as his brides grabbed his hands. Perhaps after Sunspear things were finally turning his way again.

Arthur looked at his brother. "Where is father anyway?"

It was Ashara who answered. "Praying in the Godswood."

Lyanna and Dacey reacted as if hit by lightning. "Godswood? Here?" Confusion tinged their expressions.

"Yes, House Dayne is like the Blackwoods. Alone among the other Dornish in keeping to the Old Gods and the Old Way." Ashara furrowed her brows. "Didn't Elia tell you?"

Glancing at her wife with a sidelong look, Lyanna was not amused. "No… Elia didn't tell me."

"Thought it would be a surprise," Elia replied, bumping Lyanna's hips with hers.

The beauty of Starfall giggled. "You're welcome to pray there if you like."

Already, Starfall held more hospitality for Lyanna Targaryen than their entire stay at Sunspear combined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, little Jon has finally come!
> 
> So now we've met the Daynes, especially Ashara.
> 
> Robert is still an a-hole.
> 
> Next time, Tyrion finds Cersei in a delicate condition :D


	41. Sleepless in Starfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sups all. Sorry things are so slow with me. Lotta stuff to do. Got a job finally but I have to move to a different town in the metro area, that's a drag. Plus more crap. Not much time to write.
> 
> Just found a great new story on fanfiction.net called A Targaryen Dynasty by BlackRose999. Really recommend to read it :)
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

Hobbled by rheumatism, Althos Dayne looked nothing like the Sword of the Morning prior to Arthur. Each step he took of his frail body seemed to bring him pain, but nevertheless he persisted in walking stride by stride with Rhaegar. "My son tells me a great tale, your Grace. I hope you realize how great a request you ask of me."

"This I realize, my Lord," Rhaegar replied.

"I don't think you realize the danger my House is now in."

"Father, you should trust Rhaegar as well as myself. King Aerys has greatly deserved what is about to come his way. He will be deposed one way or the other, and it's best if Prince Rhaegar is the one…"

The Lord held up his hand. "My son, I trust you greatly even in spite of how you nearly broke your Kingsguard oath." That silenced Arthur - unlike his siblings, his father was… frosty about Dacey's pregnancy. Not about her or the baby, but more on what it meant for Arthur. But that wasn't the current discussion. "If you believe in Prince Rhaegar, I do as well. But we are speaking of treason. Lord Titus Peake is awaiting your audience and he is sworn to Mace Tyrell… whom I know is a wannabe confidant of the King. I wish to make sure that thousands of Reachmen aren't about to descend upon us because of your arrival."

Rhaegar found that reasonable. "Perhaps it is time to hear what the young Lord has to say." He hadn't told the Lord about his and Elia's raven to Starpike. Best see if Titus Peake would be receptive.

House Dayne's guards brought Titus Peake into the grand hall. "My Prince." The young Lord of Starpike - face handsome, framed with curly-brown hair - knelt before Rhaegar. "My sword and shield are yours."

_He seems desperate in his loyalty… good sign._ Titus Peake wasn't anywhere near the level of deceptive caliber that Rhaegar was used to. "Rise, my Lord." He gestured to the table, both Arthur and Lord Althos taking a seat across from the young Lord while the Prince took the head. "Now, what do you wish of this audience?"

Titus seemed quite unsure of himself, but continued - taking a deep breath. "My Liege Lord, Mace Tyrell, sent ravens to all over the Reach… He is asking us to reaffirm our loyalty to the Crown."

It took all of his fortitude for his heart not to pound out of his chest. This he did not expect so early. "I don't see any reason for him to have done that." _Did Mace find out?_ The dolt was the last person he considered for knowing of the plot. At his smartest, he'd just use it to extort a betrothal to Aegon.

"It only said what I told you, your Grace, but I can put together that the Realm is in danger of… something. And considering my House's… questionable history with House Targaryen, I wished to express my support to you personally."

The Peakes were ardent supporters of Daemon Blackfyre, and Rhaegar's great-grandfather King Maekar Targaryen was killed while trying to storm Starpike during one of their rebellions. Seems Elia's reliance on that history paid off. "My… father and I do see threats on the horizon to the crown. Your House is a powerful one, and I would be honored to have its support."

Smiling softly, Lord Peake leaned in. "Forgive me for my forwardness and intransigence, but if the interests of yourself and the King do diverge, I feel that my Liege Lord would side with the King… while I am inclined to side with you… my Prince."

_He doesn't know what we're planning truly, but it doesn't take a maester to realize the tension in the Realm._ "I appreciate it, Lord Peake." He could just fuck Elia till she passed out from this - Lyanna too, given the newest developments. "You are an honored guest of my household and I hope we can discuss our alliance further at a different date."

Titus bowed respectfully. "Thank you, your Grace."

"So what are your thoughts, Arthur?" Rhaegar asked as they walked down the vine-covered walls of the great castle, battlements to their left overlooking the east course of the Torrentine. "Should I trust Lord Peake?"

The Kingsguard pursed his lips. "When we were the Kings of the Torrentine, House Peake often tried to subdue us for the Gardeners. Then they tried to fight us for… well, your House. And then they fought us for Daemon Blackfyre. A mighty, warrior house are they… which is why you should trust their support."

"Why?"

"Warrior houses are bad at deception in the political realm for the most part. Titus Peake is trying his best to play politics, which is an earnest effort. Heed it."

Rhaegar pursed his lips. "Alright, Arthur. I'd be a fool not to trust you in your own element."

Arthur nodded, hands behind his back as he looked over his home. "I didn't know how much I missed it here till I arrived."

"I'm glad you adapted well to the Kingsguard lifestyle… Although Dacey probably isn't."

"I don't regret it… regardless of my father's disapproval, I don't regret choosing her."

"You are a great knight, Arthur. There is no doubt in my mind that you can hold honor and loyalty for both your oath and your family." Arthur smiled, greatly appreciative of his friend's praise.

Nestled within several layers of walls and hillside away from prying eyes, a thick grove of olive, citrus, and myrtle surrounded the blood-red heart tree of the Starfall Godswood - itself ringed by circular pools and fountains. They found their women kneeling in the center, praying before the foreboding visage. Elia and Lyanna were right beside each other, allowing him to pull them into a hug from behind. "Finding spiritual enlightenment, my loves?"

Lyanna tilted her head back, kissing Rhaegar on the cheek. "Nothing as mysterious as that," she chuckled.

"Just trying to convert Elia," chuckled Ashara, rising to greet her brother. "I think we have her right where we want her."

"Very funny, Ash," Elia said from Rhaegar's arms. "You're lucky I'm still taking you in as my Lady in Waiting." With Ellaria now living with Oberyn, there was no better choice than her other childhood friend. "But Rhaegar, this place… it… all I can really say to explain it is that I understand why Lyanna always found solace here."

_Gods, do I need it right now._ Surreptitiously cupping her stomach, she hoped no one noticed her apprehension.

"Can the Prince of Westeros escort these fine ladies to their midday meal?"

A deep breath followed by a smile from Lyanna. "Lead the way, my dragon."

Just as she rose to follow her husband and sister wife, Ashara brushed beside her. "You should tell them… The gods favor honesty." Smiling, the beauty of Starfall left the northern Princess before the heart tree - the tempest of emotions never ceasing.

* * *

_Dearest Ned,_

_I don't think there is any better way to tell you this, so I should just come out and say it. I am planning to inform father that I am renouncing my claim to Winterfell._

It was as if all sounds in the room had vanished, replaced with a silence that boomed in Ned's ears. He blinked, rereading the sentence only to blink again. Had he misread?

Apparently not.

_Call me selfish if you wish, brother, but the entire family knows that you are more lordly than I could ever be. The selfish thing would be for me to guide House Stark when I am not the one most suited for the job. You are, and as your brother I will be your loyal servant in any task you require of me._

_Ned's hands trembled, blood turning to ice. Was this really happening? Was he to become the Lord of Winterfell? So much to take in…_

_My one worry is the Lady Catelyn. While I care for her, she is too good to marry someone not a Lord. I shall try to convince both Lord Tully and Elbert to betroth her as the new Lady Arryn, because let's face it. Lysa is insane and won't make a good Lady._

Ned had to snort at that - it was on the nose.

_Gods be with you, Ned. I am taking my destiny by the horns, and I know you were born to do this._

_Your brother,_

_Brandon._

Letter dropping to the desk before him, Ned pushed the chair from the desk, leaning back on it. "Why… why, Bran why? You were born to be a Lord."

_Was he?_

Lya had brought it up to him once, at the Twins. Watching him dance and be merry with Walder Frey's daughters even though the old codger loved using his women to snare highborn men. How Brandon slept with Lady Catelyn prior to their upcoming vows… one just didn't do that with a highborn girl unless they were absolutely certain of their intentions. _Was there always that strain of deficiency in Bran? One that predicted this?_

Rather - more importantly - was there a strain of leadership in him? One that both Rhaegar and Bran saw? Head pulsing with the weight of it all, Ned rose from his chair and grabbed his cloak. "I need to think," he muttered to himself.

Late at night few people visited the grove of pine and spruce trees, even as the servants lit pathways and the hot springs kept it robustly warmer than the surrounding landscape. Ned and Lya in their youth could always count on the silence to provide an escape. Even when stepping one foot into the Godswood, the tightness in his heart already felt lighter.

However, he was not alone. A lone figure stood in front of the heart tree. Long tresses of red hair that tumbled across her back truly shocking him. "Lady Catelyn?"

Startled, Catelyn turned. "Oh, Ned. I didn't see you come in."

"They always did call me the Quiet Wolf," he quipped dryly, trying to ease her tension. "What are you doing here?" She blinked, eyes frittering to the mournful face carved into the tree. "I must warn against lying. The gods don't care for that in front of the heart tree."

"I wasn't…" Biting her lip, Catelyn sighed. "Forgive me. I don't really know what brought me here, but I… My Brandon knows the south, but I did see him in the Godswood at Riverrun. We don't have one of these trees and yet he still prayed… every day."

_Brandon…_ She didn't know - Ned didn't have the courage to be the one to tell her. "Aye he kept our faith in his own way."

Longing filled her expression. "I miss him. It's been moons and life just isn't the same for me without your brother. I enjoyed my childhood, but he simply brought new life into me."

"He has a knack for doing that."

"I honestly can't wait to be his wife. Perhaps that will help me adapt to here better." Catelyn looked again at the heart tree. "Perhaps he can be my connection to this place - whatever transpires, it will be the pleasure of a lifetime to experience it with him." Smiling wistfully, she reached over and lightly hugged her future goodbrother. "Seven blessings to you, brother." A single kiss on the cheek and she walked off towards the keep, leaving Ned alone.

"Her heart will break," Ned said to the heart tree, answered by nothing but the wafting of the leaves. "I pray she finds Elbert a better husband." Putting aside thoughts of Lady Catelyn for now, Ned knelt before the weirwood, hand resting against the smooth bark.

_Great ones, heed my prayer. Watch over my family - father, Bran, Ben, Lya, Rhaegar, Rhaenys, Egg, and Elia. I… I am not prepared to serve you as the Lord of these lands. Grant us your wisdom and show me your way._

Suddenly he found himself pulled away from his body, images flashing before him...

_Ice flashing in a great battle, spilling blood in Ned's hands as he wielded it in a mad, desperate charge._

_Laughing with Lya, two furry shapes bounding in the snow ahead of them._

_Walking down the snow-lined pathways with a girl kissed by fire, handing her off to a young man with Lya's hair and Rhaegar's eyes - a pure Valyrian beauty standing to the side._

_A gorgeous young woman embracing him tightly, crying at the loss of her young love. Ned comforting her as he whispered "Rhae…"_

_And lastly, the glittering smile of someone that made his heart clench. Framed by rivers of gold, the joyous image of Cersei Lannister watched him. Eyes filled with the deepest love._

_"My darling wolf…"_

Suddenly flung back into the present, Ned almost keeled over as spasms tasked his lungs. The old gods seemed to task him with a life of pain and struggle… and yet also of love and family.

_She is not worthy of a second son._

_Yet you aren't to be a second son anymore…_

By a stroke of Brandon's pen, all he ever wanted was finally in Ned's grasp. _Cersei…_

Unbeknownst to any of the Starks, the Lord of Leeches let himself into the Lord's solar - having snuck passed the guards who were too engrossed in a game of dice. Searching for advantage, if any could be gained.

Rifling through Eddard Stark's papers, the leech's milky eyes widened at the words. Without a sound he set everything the way he found it. Slipping out - desperate to think of a way to salvage what was left of his plans.

Roose Bolton would not let this slip from his fingers.

* * *

"Well, looks like I'm back," Tyrion mused as his father came into view, almost grinding his teeth at the annoyance. _It's good to see you too, father._ What he didn't expect was the buxom, smiling woman to his right. As such, she was the first he greeted when the guard opened the door. "Aunt Genna."

"My little nephew." She picked him up rather easily, hugging him to her chest. "Glad to finally see you out of that shit-smelling monstrosity."

"It wasn't too bad," he chuckled, appreciative of his aunt's affections. They obviously irked his father, but Genna was always able to get away with it. "I learned a lot from Lord Stark."

Being set down, he didn't expect any form of greeting from Tywin and Tywin didn't disappoint. "That is all well and good, because I doubt I would have allowed you back had he not insisted."

"He's your son, Tywin. Of course you would have," Genna countered sternly.

Appreciating the defense, Tyrion nonetheless spoke up. "I believe Lord Lannister wishes that I complete the apprenticeship I sought rather than resume my previous life of frivolity."

They began to walk up the steps, making for an odd trio of golden-haired lions. "You are a disappointment, but are not stupid." For Tywin, that wasn't faint praise. "I expect you to put what you learned to the test."

"I would expect nothing less, and it'll be fun showing off to my uncles."

"You'll have to discount Gerion, he's no longer here," Genna said sadly. "He's on an expedition."

That surprised him. "Where?"

"Old Valyria, Tywin replied with a scowl. "If your uncle wishes to kill himself that's his damn business. Though I wouldn't cry if you went on something similar, you didn't and thus better pull your weight. Excuse me." As soon as he could, Tywin dashed off down a corridor, leaving his son and sister to continue towards the motte without him.

There was silence for a long while, the only sound being the scuff of their boots atop the stone steps. "I've endured a lot from my lord father," Tyrion finally said, "But he seems to be in a worse mood than usual."

Genna rolled her eyes. "Oh, your father just finds things to put him into moods. He's been in this one since the news with your sister ended her betrothal negotiations."

"Betrothal negotiations?" Cersei never mentioned anything in her letters to Jaime - in extension, to him, but they were always addressed to his brother.

"She didn't tell… Jaime?" Genna was no fool regarding the family dynamic. "Not surprising, given everything. Ty wanted to betroth her to Robert Baratheon. She refused, said she wanted to marry…"

"Eddard Stark?"

She looked down on him with a surprised expression. "You knew?"

Tyrion chuckled. "My skills, Aunt Genna. I drink and I know things."

Joining his mirth, Genna shook her head. "The first is my father, the second is your father. Spitting image of the two, which is why I think Ty is uncomfortable around you." Tyrion disagreed, but he didn't voice it. "Anyway, yes, Cersei wished to marry Eddard Stark and it got them into a massive scuffle. He would have bound and shipped her to Storm's End if…" She trailed off.

"If what, Aunt Genna?"

A sigh. "I think it's best if she tells you herself." Tyrion did not know what to make of that.

Two hours later, Tyrion knocked at his sister's door. "Careful, little Lord."

His brow rose. "Little Lord?"

"Aye, you're a Lord and you're little." Sandor Clegane shrugged. "She'll bite your head off. Sickness getting to her."

"Sickness?" Now Tyrion was worried. "What does she…"

"Nothing that she can give to you."

"Come in!" Cersei shouted from inside. _She hasn't changed a bit, then._ Giving Sandor one last quizzical look, he entered the room only to stop. Eyes widening.

Cersei looked pale and haggard. That pointed to some things, but the tight cut of her dress that did nothing to hide the growing swell of her stomach narrowed it down. "If you talk to anyone outside this keep, I will cut your cock off."

Threat not fazing him - knowing she had slept with Ned Stark made this shocking, not surprising - Tyrion smirked. "Ever since I was a babe you have been rather wishful to do so, sweet sister."

She glowered, but nevertheless did not object to her brother finding a chair to make himself comfortable. "If you're gonna yell at me for getting with child, father's done enough for the both of us." Cersei sat back upon her bed, willing the malady to break for once this month.

Tyrion snickered - the Light of the West humbled like this wasn't a sight one often saw. "Our loving father certainly has a way with words doesn't he?" He eyed her pregnant abdomen curiously. "So there's really a lionwolf in there, huh?"

As much as she could not stand her brother, Cersei tolerated his presence. Not only was the company if someone other than Aunt Genna that didn't judge her rather welcome, she had to admit "lionwolf" made her smile. She brought a hand to her belly. "Yes."

"And you're upset because…?"

The joy at her thoughts died at his idiotic question. "Why do you think, Tyrion? First, my stomach is trying every day to expel itself out of me. Second, I'm pregnant with the bastard child of the man I love and can't ever be with. So yes I'm fucking upset!"

Tyrion had to shake his ears, trying to hear right. _Did she admit she loved Eddard Stark. My sister, Cersei?!_ She continued to surprise him. "Well… Ned's not married." It did seem a rather obvious solution. "And if he feels for you as you do him - which I suspect is true, you have him like a puppy waiting for a treat - he will beg father for your hand."

Cersei has to admit his characterization of her direwolf was accurate. Ned was ready to elope with her on their first night. "Father would still never allow it."

"He never allowed Jaime to be a Kingsguard, and yet there he is, wearing the white and ogling the Queen." Watching her bite her lip, Tyrion figured he was lucky for Cersei to be so amiable.

Cersei sighed, conceding he had a point. She caressed her stomach protectively. "I hate it when you make sense."

He grinned. "Cause you'll just have to admit that you appreciate my advice? Must be horrifying for you." They poured each other a goblet of cider. "By the way have you thought of names for the little one?"

That subject made Cersei smile. "I've thought of a few…" The smile turned into a devilish smirk. "Mostly to piss father off."

Now Tyrion was interested. "Oh? Care to name a few sister? If anyone is an expert at pissing off the great Tywin Lannister is his dwarf of a son."

"Though his daughter is catching up to that dwarf," she replied. "Maybe Tytos... or Robb after Ser Robb Reyne."

"Good choices, though if you truly want to irk him, go with the latter. As much of an idiot and whoremonger our grandfather was, our father still loved him." Family mattered to Tywin - probably the only reason he hadn't smothered Tyrion in his sleep.

"If its a girl… perhaps something Dornish.

"You could name her Ellyn."

"Ah, the Reyne whore." She giggled, sipping her cider. "For once I like the way you think."

He raised his silver goblet, clinking with Cersei's. "The Lannister siblings, irking our father one day at a time."

"I think young cousin Lancel will come close." That boy was as useless in combat as Tyrion without any of the… excuses. "Let's see if Jaime catches up."

"Oh, he very well could. I see a little boy or girl with blond hair and purple eyes in the future."

"The Queen? I don't doubt Jaime's enough of an idiot to cuckold the King, but Rhaella won't let him."

He wagged his finger. "Never underestimate the courage and stupidity of a man in love."

"Or a woman," Cersei sighed. "You know, I feel less and less desirous of tossing you off the Rock's cliffs."

Tyrion clutched at his heart. "Why, you move me dear sister. Father might, though."

Cersei chuckled. "He was about to when you milked the eel into his turtle stew."

"Yes…" Tyrion murmured softly, pushing out of the chair. "Father was the only one I did that to..." He was already halfway towards the door.

It took a split second of thinking before Cersei's eyes widened. "You disgusting little monster!" But Tyrion was already out the door when her goblet crashed against it.

* * *

Ashara Dayne was beautiful.

There was no denying it even for the most jealous and envious of women - of whom Lyanna was not. With her raven hair, dark purple eyes, and fair complexion, she combined both the ethereal Valyrian looks with the lithe strength of the First Men. All with a warm heart that made Dacey feel at home in what was essentially her goodfamily's keep. Lyanna understood why Elia liked her. Why she liked her. The Princess was slowly bonding with the Dornishwoman, a friendship developing.

"You need to tell the both of them," Ashara said gently but firmly as they walked under the moonlight. The crescent sliver casting an ethereal hue over the Torrentine.

"It's not that simple, Ash."

While Dacey would have rolled her eyes and Ellaria would have snorted, Ashara merely wrapped an arm around her shoulder. All appreciated in their own signature manner. "Elia told me of what happened. I may not have experienced being with child, but I know this isn't a burden to bear alone."

"I don't want to bear this alone…" Lyanna murmured. "But if something happens, I couldn't bear to see them hurt as they were." _I hurt them both and now it's happening again…_

Ashara sighed. "You don't have to relive it if it hurts too much…"

"No." Lyanna shook her head. "It's fine." She cupped her belly. _Jon… my pup… I love you already._ "I love this babe, Ash, just as I loved Visenya. What if I lose this one too?"

Ashara's purple eyes held an intensity, though not like Rhaegar's. Lustrous rather than fiery. "And you will lose yourself if you don't find joy with them. I can tell they both love you." It was shocking that the prudish, withdrawn Elia Martell had fallen into a traditional Valyrian marriage with the Crown Prince and a northerner, but recent events proved to Ash the… appeal those north of the Neck held. "Let them love your babe with you."

Walking back to the keep, Lyanna smiled at her new friend. "You are wise beyond your years, Ash."

"Oh, while Arthur was becoming the greatest swordsman that ever lived, I endured the worst training course for a lady wishing to understand people - the Dornish court." Both chuckled at that. "On another subject, when Elia left Sunspear there were plenty of young knights and courtiers that had fallen desperately for her."

"Are you trying to make Rhaegar jealous?" _Or me jealous?_ Because it was working if her inner wolf's possessive ire had anything to say about it.

Ash smirked, eyes twinkling. "No, just curious. Did your younger brother leave anyone like that in Winterfell?"

Lyanna regarded her curiously. "I don't believe so…. Ben's always been the quiet sort."

"What a shame then." Even as she stepped a bit ahead of Lyanna, the she-wolf could tell the Beauty of Starfall smiled widely.

Lyanna entered the guest chambers ten minutes later to find her shirtless husband alone. Back hunched over a writing desk as he scribbled something. Her heart did a little hitch at seeing him - silver hair glinting in the firelight. She strode behind him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "Hello wife," Rhaegar said, leaning up for a kiss.

Which was readily given. "You've memorized my touch, haven't you?"

"Yes, but also your smell," he replied, chuckling.

"Elia?" Lyanna asked.

"Privy. We waited up for you."

_They are so sweet._ "Why did you do that?" She leaned down and placed kisses on his neck and shoulders.

Rhaegar groaned… "Can't sleep without you." His violet eyes shone with love. "Both of you have spoiled me these last weeks."

Lyanna blushed faintly, still in disbelief at it all - at how sudden it all was. At how much she loved it._ I've never thought such about a woman before…_ "What are you doing?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Preparing notes for my conversation with the Most Devout." Their next stop was Oldtown, one they dreaded more than Sunspear.

Lyanna closed her eyes. "A talk that would go much easier if I wasn't around."

"Don't say that."

"No, your marriage to me challenges the Faith." She laughed dryly. "Another cut your father made to you." Drawing back, Lyanna walked to the bed. Sitting upon it with her hands in her lap.

"Lya?" His voice was soft, comforting as he sat beside her.

In the comfort of her own chambers Lyanna's strength evaporated. Tears rolling down her cheeks as she sobbed softly.

Rhaegar felt almost stabbed through the heart at his beloved's tears. "Lya…" She was in his arms instantaneously, burying her face in his chest. "Tell me what's wrong."

Just then the door opened and Elia walked in. Clad in her nightdress and stretching - yawning sleepily. All sleep left her at seeing her sister-wife so despondent. "Seven hells, Lyanna." She quickly took the empty space to her side. "What happened, Rhaegar?"

"I don't know," he murmured, watching as Lyanna leaned into Elia.

"Gods, Lya, did something happen?" Elia asked her, heart breaking in two from the horrid sound of Lyanna's tears.

_'She will hurt you…'_ The seductive voice delivered its poison directly to Lya. _'The babe is a threat to her…'_

"I… I don't know if I can do this again…" she choked out, voice quivering. "If it happens again…"

"What happens again?" Rhaegar ran a hand through his hair, fearful. "Tell us, please."

"I didn't mean for this to happen, my loves," she gasped, fresh tears welling in her eyes. "Believe me… it's all my fault." She knew all they were about to endure. "My fault…"

"You're scaring me, my wolf. Please…"

"I'm with child…" It was so soft, Lyanna wondered if they heard it.

When a strong palm, soft yet calloused, cupped her belly she knew they did. "You're…" Rhaegar asked, trembling.

Elia was silent. "How… how long?"

_Anger, pain and anger._ "A moon. Likely the first night on the boat." The irony was immense, her son conceived with a little bit of all of them. "I'm sorry…"

She was cut off as Elia kissed her desperately, lovingly. Lyanna just managed to suck in a breath before Rhaegar followed. As if there was no greater joy in the world than this. "Did you think I'd be upset?" Rhaegar asked, voice hollow.

Biting her lip, Lyanna nodded.

"Why would you think that?" Elia's voice had a tinge of hurt. _Does she not know how much I love her?_ Perhaps she hadn't come to terms with having a female lover. _Not all of us can._

"I… the coup. The chaos… now is the worst time."

"There are never perfect times for this, Lya. But we're in joy nonetheless," Rhaegar cooed as he kissed her brow.

"I meant what I said to my brother," Elia added. "I love the little one as if he was of my womb." Such as it was for the dragonlord of old, or the ancient first men. "Fuck what all others say."

Their words brought an indescribable happiness. And yet… Her voice caught, almost inaudible. "What if I lose this one?"

Rhaegar's grip tightened around her. "Never."

"You don't know that… I lost…"

"We won't let that happen," Elia said firmly, her hand cupping Lya's belly. "Right husband?"

Eyes blazing dragonfire, he fell to his knees, inching his head to her stomach. "My son, my child… _Kepa_ will never let anyone harm you."

This time Lyanna cried again, only the tears were of joy. Of how the two of them already adored little Jon. "I don't deserve this…"

"You do, Lyanna." Elia kissed her again, sighing happily as her sister-wife melted into it.

"By all the gods, you do." To her wide eyes and Elia's giggles - it was quite ridiculous in a way - Rhaegar grabbed Blackfyre and knelt before Lya… and their babe. "I pledge my eternal loyalty to you, Princesses Lyanna Targaryen, Elia Targaryen, and Rhaenys Targaryen - Prince Aegon Targaryen and the as yet unnamed Targaryen Prince."

Lya snorted. Her husband really was adorable.

Smiling at his loves' reactions, Rhaegar continued. "My sword and my shield are yours to command, until my dying day."

"Rise, Rhaegar of House Targaryen." Elia wanted so badly to kiss him. "So you're our sworn sword now?"

"Aye, this day till the end of my days. Yours and our babes'... that if the she-wolf doesn't mind - I know how picky she is about knowing she can defend herself."

Heart clenching with warmth, Lyanna simply leapt at him. "No… it's perfect. Thank you, Rhaegar." She let his heat calm her. "We're having a babe…"

Pulling Elia up to join the embrace - greedily accepted by his brides - Rhaegar kissed Lya's head. "I love him already, my loves." _You will not take him, father. I swear by the old gods and the new._

The transition was natural. Spontaneous - from comforting and sweet to heated and no less comforting. Lyanna and Rhaegar's eyes met, the spark so familiar between them igniting as she slowly closed the distance. Mouths opening up to accept the other in a tangled, languid display of love.

Watching the two she most loved in the world, Elia felt her nethers tingle. Hand reaching to caress Rhaegar's bare muscles, cupping Lyanna's soft cheek. At the contact she saw Lyanna break her kiss with their husband. Eyes meeting, the beautiful greys that had captivated her from the moment they met - Elia could admit that now - she smiled and leaned forward. Kissing all the same. She unknowing of the spark that first appeared to Lyanna. The first of someone other than Rhaegar… the only someone other than Rhaegar in her life.

There was no jealousy in Rhaegar's gaze, only love and lust. An unspoken agreement with his Dornish Princess to pleasure their she-wolf. To make sure this memory of their babe was one to treasure and not despise. "My love…' Rhaegar cooed, nuzzling his nose against her cheek. "I'm so happy." He kissed her cheek and Lyanna sighed softly into her embrace with Elia, leaning her body into his. "I can't wait to meet our little Prince."

It was a short journey to the bed, Elia and Rhaegar shedding their few clothes before moving to disrobe their love. Peppering each stretch of bare skin with kisses and loving caresses. Gently pushing her onto the bed. Lyanna bit her lip, staring at them with lust-filled eyes. Rubbing her legs together like a cricket. A pure, wild beauty of the North…

And it drove them just as wild, but the joy of the babe in her stomach calmed them.

Rhaegar leaned forward first, planting a sweet, soft kiss on Lyanna's lips. Running his tongue along her teeth, placing his other hand on her belly - it made her swoon, and gush. Lyanna kissed him desperately, putting her hands in his hair as she plundered his mouth.

The bed dipped as Elia climbed on. Snuggling next to her sister-wife with rather… prurient intentions. Steeling a hungry kiss from the northern beauty, hands immediately groping her breasts. The pregnancy already made them hypersensitive, a bit heavier than normal. Elia lusted for them. Especially after Lyanna mewled in her mouth, turned on greatly by the ministrations.

Mewls turned to a deep moan when Rhaegar entered her. Slow and sensual rather than the feverish fucking that the dragon and wolf went at each other with normally. He clenched his teeth at how tight she was. Pressing on with a quiet determination. "My love. My wife. Mother of my babes."

"Mmmmm… fuck me, _Kepa_, please," she moaned, bucking her hips to take him ever deeper. "I love you."

"I love you too." His pressured face suddenly grew a smirk. "Ready to join, my sun?"

Lyanna was confused until something warm and beautiful fell upon her mouth. The smell intoxicating. "Please, Lya," Elia begged. The sight of their lovemaking making her burn with need. Gasping when the she-wolf's eager tongue stabbed through her folds. "Oh, gods… Lya… I love both of you."

"You are ours to protect and cherish." Rhaegar kept his thrusts firm. Grabbing Elia's breast from behind to steady himself. "Our Queen."

"Our lives were empty without… you," Elia choked out, core pulsing with pleasure.

Moaning into her cunt, rocking from the thrusts, Lyanna closed her eyes. It was then that she heard it return… _'They will hurt you… she will hurt you…'_

But Lyanna ignored the seductive, poisonous voice always at the back of her mind. _No… they won't…_ She felt the love… felt the passion they had for her. _Gods… I'm so loved…_ She attacked Elia's cunt, desperately meeting her husband's cock. _Loved… loved… loved… Oh…_ Her climax rocked her, joined moments later by Rhaegar and Elia. Together, a loving family for the miracle babe inside her.

Nestled together moments later in a tangle of flesh, Elia shared a languid kiss with her husband before resting a palm on Lyanna's belly. "This is nothing but a blessing, Lya. Don't ever think differently."

Trembling from the pleasure she had experienced, Lyanna cried happy tears. "Yes, he is."

"Are we sure it's a son?" Rhaegar asked, in awe of it all. The vision of the dark-haired boy riding next to him on dragonback came to his mind. The Prince loved him already.

Lyanna's thoughts were of the same boy, appearing in her own vision. "Yes. I'm carrying a son. Our son."

"Ours," murmured Elia. The three of them rested in silence for several moments, simply basking in the gentle joy. "Rhaegar," the Dornish Princess suddenly remembered. "Sing it to us."

He furrowed his brows in confusion. "Sing what?" A knowing glint in Elia's eye brought him realization. "Lya, my love." Rhaegar got her attention. "I made this for you, when you were with child last time." Pausing, he made sure Lyanna wasn't in pain - if she was, she handled it well. "Let me get my harp."

Making to move from the bed, a two sets of arms refuses to let him go. "No," Lyanna murmured. "Stay, please." Her grey eyes were filled with need.

"Your voice is all we want, right now," Elia added, kissing his shoulder.

Settling back on the bed, Rhaegar waited till his brides rested on his chest, their arms draped over each other. He cleared his throat, beginning to sing...

_"Duncan met with Jenny fair_

_"In these hallowed halls that day;_

_"But the Prince right now is fu' of care_

_"Since these Princesses staw his heart away."_

_"Altho' she seemed too gu'd be true_

_"She proven has, a price'ss find_

_"Which drives the Prince aften rue_

_"That he'd loos'd a maiden kind."_

Elia felt her sister-wife grip her hand tighter. A welcome feeling. She herself had heard the song before and Rhaegar's voice already was driving her to tears. Let alone how Lyanna felt.

_"Tis o'er the hills and far away_

_"Tis o'er the hills and far away_

_"Tis o'er the hills and far away_

_"The let no'un drive my love astray."_

The northern beauty let her cries out. Soft and gentle, coaxed from her by the meaningful melody. Even in such hardship, such pain, she wouldn't have given this precious gift up for anything in the world.

_"Since she is fause whom I adore_

_"I'll never trust a woman more;_

_"Frae a' their charms I'll fade away_

_"So fer' them my pipes I'll sweetly play,"_

_"Duncan met with Jenny fair_

_"In these hallowed halls that day;_

_"But the Prince right now is fu' of care_

_"Since these Princesses staw his heart away."_

They all cried. Crying for what had to be done. Crying for the pain Aerys put them through. Crying for the babe they lost… and for the babe in Lya's stomach that they all loved so. A sign of the future. Of the dawn that ended the darkness.

_"Tis o'er the hills and far away_

_"Tis o'er the hills and far away_

_"Tis o'er the hills and far away_

_"The let no'un drive my love astray."_

* * *

"Please, mi'Lord! Have mercy!" The unfortunate soul screeched from his hoarse throat as he was racked, limbs stretched to their breaking point. It was grotesque to watch, but Jon Connington couldn't be bothered to feel anything.

Holding up his hand to the beefy torturer, Jonothor Darry paused the procedure. He still wore his Kingsguard armor but with helm off for effect. Leaning in, his voice was gentle. Syrupy sweet with persuasion. "It can all end soon. Just confess."

The prisoner's torso was covered in bruises and burns, long having been stripped of his jerkin and gorget emblazoned with the direwolf of House Stark. "Mercy…" he murmured. "I beg…"

"Confess," Ser Jonothor said again. "Tell us how you assisted the Princess Lyanna at the King's Tourney."

"I don't… I don't know… what you're… talking about." A sigh led the Kingsguard away, drawing more protests. "Please! I don't know! Please!"

Glancing at Connington, at the nod of the Lord Hand the Kingsguard waved to the torturer. Pulling the winch on the rack, more screams echoed through the dungeon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did Lya really think her loves would be upset? That was dumb of her, though she likely didn't care cause everything was so happy :D
> 
> Ned sees his chance, but you just know Roose Bolton's gonna fuck it up.
> 
> Cersei and Tyrion are a riot to write!
> 
> Next time, the fun begins. If I can get 40 reviews, I'll publish it by the end of the week.


	42. Burn Them All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright ladies and gentlemen. We are now at the point of no return. Time for the Rebellion to start.
> 
> Aerys is his own warning.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

"Are we sure now is the time?"

"Don't flake out on us now, Jon. Put your tourney boots on and mount the horse."

Sighing, Jon Connington nodded. "Alright." This would be the most difficult part of his plan… supposedly betraying his Silver Prince to the man both planned to depose, but it was necessary. _The Starks must be culled before they poison Rhaegar even more… this will destroy them while assisting Rhaegar._ His inward encouragement may have been basic rationalization, but at that moment he believed them.

Without further delay Ser Jonothor Darry pushed open the doors to the King's personal solar… a dark, stuffy room filled with wisps of smoke from the hearth and eight braziers stationed around it - each containing one dragon egg nestled among the embers. "Your Grace," Ser Jonothor bowed. "Lord Hand Jon Connington has requested a personal audience." With four brothers of the Kingsguard with Prince Rhaegar, he essentially was the King's lone guard and it helped greatly.

Half-eaten loaf of bread on a plate in front of him, the King was silent for the longest time. Subdued, lost in thoughts both real and contrived. "What do you want, Connington?" he eventually snapped. "More grievances in favor of my son?"

The Lord Hand steeled himself, taking a deep breath. "I have come to report to you the gravest treason."

Aerys turned, his glassy eyes starting to return to life. "Yes?" If this was the moment he finally had proof of Tywin's treachery, he'd snatch the bastard and bring him here - perhaps it would be Ser Jaime that he made conduct the execution. The thought made him smile.

"It concerns the Knight of the Laughing Tree." All traces of a smile died from Aerys' lips. The King grew visibly harder, tenser, his already pale skin growing white with apprehension and… fear? "I have conclusively proven his identity." Motioning to the guards outside - both trusted bannermen of House Connington - they entered carrying his evidence. "This shield was discovered in a cabin outside Harrenhal."

Stepping forward, the King ran a hand along the well-painted weirwood. Maw open as if to laugh at him. Jenny…

_"She returns from the dead."_ Whispered the soft, seductive voice in his ear. _"She plans to destroy you with her champion."_

"No… Rhaegar killed the traitor!" he hissed.

"Unfortunately, it seems not." Another gift, this one a cloth favor. "This was discovered in the cabin as well. A favor, emblazoned with the direwolf of House Stark."

Aerys trembled when he held it. The sigil was undeniable. "Which one? Brandon? Eddard? Lord Rickard? I'll kill them all!"

Unlike most, Connington would enjoy this part. "He is actually a she. The knight is in fact Lyanna Stark."

"Impossible." The King laughed. "A woman couldn't be a fucking knight."

Connington shook his head. "Ser Jonothor interrogated a man of the Stark household guard. He confessed to assisting in Lyanna's plan for the tourney." He couldn't divulge the true source of the information, but everything had to be calculated to produce the proper result. Lyanna's banishment, the culling of House Stark, the humiliation of the North and its allies into supporting Rhaegar. All had to be gauged carefully. "The Princess planned to return and challenge your rule openly, but Rhaegar found her in the cabin and she instead seduced him. Deciding to undermine your rule from within. It's why she carried the false dragon in her womb."

_Forgive me, Rhaegar, but this is for your own good._

Aerys staggered. Disbelief in his eyes. "Ser Jonothor…?"

"It is true, your Grace."

_"They threaten your throne. Your life… your destiny."_

Picking up a knife from his desk, one of Valyrian steel he had obtained fighting the Blackfyres in the Stepstones, Aerys fiddled with it as his mind wandered to Rhaegar. His own son, married to that wildling harpy, overpowering the frail Martell girl and his weak excuse for progeny. Gods, it was clear as day. He didn't even need to see the proof again - in his heart Aerys knew it to be true. "Tywin isn't the one Jenny sent to destroy me…"

_"The Stark girl… it's always been her!"_

"Yes, always that wildling bitch! Her whole family, they must have arranged for her to seduce Rhaegar once Jenny put it in my mind!" All made sense now. His thinking clear for the first time in ages.

Connington felt sweat running down his forehead, be it from the fear or the heat rolling off the braziers. "Your Grace?" he hesitantly asked, resisting the urge to wipe the sweat off his brow. "What do you wish for me to…"

"Where are they?!" he demanded. "My idiot son and the bitch. Where?"

"Starfall, your Grace."

He scowled. _Fuck…_ Ser Arthur's family would defend them to the death because of Rhaegar's friendship with the Kingsguard that broke his vows.

_"You still have Lord Stark… and his son… Show them fire and blood as your ancestors did."_

That sounded like a splendid idea. "Yes, we must show fire and blood!" Aerys' eyes found Connington quickly. Stabbing the blade on the wooden table as a cruel grin curled on his lips "They will die."

Blinking, Connington shared a look with Ser Jonothor, who looked interested. "Who will die?" He hadn't truly expected deaths out of this… was he naive?

"Find your brother, Jonothor," Aerys snapped. This was the moment he became a true dragon. Dragons didn't plant trees, they unleashed fire and blood. Aegon did so by burning Harrenhal and the Ironborn within, while he would do what Aegon failed to do - wipe House Stark off the painted table. "Tell them to arrest Rickard and Brandon Stark."

"On what charges, your Grace?" he answered.

"Accomplice to witchcraft and treason." The kingsguard nodded and left the chambers. That left Aerys and Connington alone. "I know you care for my son… this must have been hard to do."

Connington's brow rose as his face remained neutral. "I serve you, my King. If this is your command I will see to it immediately." He paused, formulating his words. "Rhaegar may be weak, but he is loyal to you. I would suggest…"

Aerys turned her head to look at him, a sadistic grin on his face "He will have his chance to prove his loyalty. In the meantime, see to the Starks' trial at once. It must be for the entire Realm to see." As the door closed behind Connington he turned to the fires. Willing from them their secrets. _Tell me._

_"The wolf and false dragon… destroy them."_

"I will," he murmured into the flames.

_"Burn them all."_

* * *

"Forgive me son," Rickard murmured - as if he had been punched in the chest. It felt like he was given the shock of his life. That seemed to happen more than once after travelling south many moons ago. "I don't believe I heard you correctly."

Brandon sighed. "Father, please. I'm not naive," he said gently. Nevertheless, he complied. "I am renouncing my birthright as Lord of Winterfell in favor of Ned."

It rocked him even greater than the first time. "Why? For gods' sake, why?" Rickard was in disbelief. "Were you threatened? Wait… did you sire a bastard off some southern noble?"

"What… no…" Running a hand through his wild cowlicks, Brandon felt close to suffocated. "Father, it's not like that, gods, I knew you'd be like this."

"Be like what?" They were both in the Master of Laws' solar, Rickard seated at his desk while the as of now former heir to Winterfell stood across from him. "I am dealing with the life or death decisions of our House only to find my son and heir willing to cast aside everything I've fought to give him." _I sound like Tywin Lannister._ The comparison was jarring but he did not find it problematic.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Brandon sat in one of the ornate chairs that the servants had stocked the room with. "Father, I mean no disrespect and I have no intention of abandoning you or our House, but you have to know that I am not suited to rule from Winterfell. Ned may be young and a little rigid in his honor but I know he's everything a proper King of Winter or Warden of the North could ever hope to be."

"And what is it that you would do?"

Memories of his conversations with Prince Oberyn or Gerion Lannister came to mind. He had thought about it for a while. "I yearn for a life of adventure, father. Of making our House proud by travelling the world. Rewarding the North with its riches. Serving Ned or Lya in any far-flung task they wish of me."

Pursing his lips, in his heart Rickard knew Bran was right. That his son had looked deep inside himself and found the same deficiencies as Olenna had informed him of at Lyanna's wedding. He's my son… "What do you want me to say, Bran?"

"Say that you understand, that this is what is best for our House."

"And Lady Catelyn? She is set to be your bride."

That did affect Brandon greatly. Catelyn was his fire-kissed maiden and he cared for her, but… "She is worth more than the life I could give her. I'm sure Lord Tully could find a match just as well for her. Lord Arryn perhaps?"

Elbert Arryn was a good match, and probably better than House Stark given the Tully piety. "And what match would you make for Ned? A Lord needs a Lady."

In that, Brandon could smile. "He's besotted with Cersei Lannister." Rickard looked shocked that he knew. "Don't be surprised. It was obvious at Lya's wedding." The two shared a chuckle at that.

Abruptly, there was a knock at the door. Rickard's brows furrowed. "Come in." The visitor was… unexpected. "Lord Varys?"

The Master of Whisperer's flabby face was devoid of its characteristic composure. Instead, he looked rather distressed. "Lord Stark… unfortunately matters have gotten rather complicated."

"What do you mean?" _Are the gods going to beat me down today?_

"Remember what I told you about influence? That you would have the time to properly build a network to battle your rival at his own game?" Rickard nodded, gulping, while Brandon looked confused. "It appears that we didn't have the time."

A dark glower formed on Lord Stark's face. "Connington is making his move?"

Varys nodded. "Lord Arryn is testament to that."

Another sledgehammer to the chest. "That buggerer killed Jon Arryn?!" Brandon roared, only for his father to shush him. "How for gods' sake?"

"Grand Maester Pycelle, he has Tears of Lys in his stockpiles. A bottle of which went missing within the last moon…" He was cut off when there was a banging at the door. A loud one, as if someone was trying to… It burst open, battering ram blasting it off its very hinges.

Fully armored as if going to war, the guards stormed Lord Stark's solar. One shoved Varys to the side, the eunuch's robes rumbling as he toppled. No one paid him heed. The guards were too busy in their dash for the Starks. "Unhand me you scum!" Brandon yelled, kicking one and hurling another halfway across the chamber before the guard captain smacked him across the head with the hilt of his sword.

"Bran!" Rickard cried, leveling a fierce gaze at the guards. "Bastards!" That earned him a slap while two men restrained his arms.

Back twinging from the fall, Varys hailed his soft, jolly body up just as Ser Willam Darry walked in. The master-at-arms looked quite smug, arms behind his back. Dressed down as a noble rather than the warrior he was. Varys sauntered up to him. "What is the meaning of this… uncouth assault upon the King's councilors?" the eunuch sputtered.

"Shut it, Varys," the Riverman knight barked. "You're lucky I'm not here for you as well." Clearing his throat, he approached the glaring Lord Rickard and the groaning Brandon. "Well we'll, if it isn't two wolfboys."

"The King will have your head for this."

"Oh, I beg to differ, Lord Stark." Leaning back, he pulled out a scroll from his belt and unfurled it. "By the order of…" Darry cleared his throat. "King Aerys of House Targaryen, Second of His Name and Lord Jon Connington, Hand of the King, I hereby place Lord Rickard Stark and Brandon Stark under arrest."

By now, Brandon had recovered his wits. "Arrest?! What the fuck for?!" He struggled against his captors, only to get a fist in the gut for his trouble.

Darry grinned. "For treason and accessory to the witchcraft of Lady Lyanna Stark." He gestured to the guards. "Take them away." Incredulous protests from the Starks aside, there was no more fuss. He turned to the Master of Whisperers. "Your 'little birds' didn't tip you off to that… did they?" he mocked.

Varys said nothing. Wiping some of the remaining dust from his robes as he looked at the floor. "Tell Lord Connington that few of us will remain here once this reaches its end." A pair of ruddy eyes found Darry's older ones. "The victors will be just as cursed as the defeated." With a sigh, he walked out of the solar.

* * *

"Please, your Grace." Frantic worry on his face, Jaime tried one last time to stop Queen Rhaella from entering the Throne Room.

Rhaella's eyes darkened. "Out of my way, Jaime," she told him firmly. No one would stop her, even him.

After what Prince Lewyn told him, Jaime didn't wish for her to be burdened by what was to come. "It will only cause you pain."

_Gods, he's so much like Joanna it's uncanny._ "Something is going on in there and I won't let you keep me out." Before he could react she pushed past him, determined as any dragon. It made him want her more than he thought possible, but the circumstances didn't allow for that. Instead, he was forced to follow his Queen into the packed hall of Maegor Targaryen's throne room. Into the jaws of the seven hells themselves.

Nearly every courtier in King's Landing crowded among the columns - summoned by the goldcloaks or journeying of their own accord to watch the show unfold. Around the throne were the two forms of Ser Jonothor Darry and Lewyn Martell, joined by a squadron of household guards. Every one of the King's sycophants were in attendance - Lucerys Velaryon, Renfred Ryker, Owen Merryweather, Symond Staunton, Qarlton Chelsted, Grand Maester Pycelle, Willam Darry, and the disgusting Pyromancer Wisdom Rossart. Beside the Iron Throne were Jon Connington and Varys, the latter quite distressed.

Seated upon the throne of Aegon the Conqueror was Aerys II Targaryen, looking quite pleased with himself. "Ah, wife. Took you long enough to show up."

"What have you done, your Grace?"

Such insolence was normally ill advised, but the King was in a good mood. "You shall see."

At that moment Rhaella noticed a small, silver-haired figure tucked close to Prince Lewyn. "Viserys!"

"Muna!" His cries made her start to rush towards him.

But the King wouldn't allow it. "Lannister! Make sure she stays by Lord Varys." It was across the Iron Throne from Viserys and Jaime hated having to follow the order, but he did so. Begging with his gaze for Rhaella to comply… which she hesitantly did. Something told her this was not going to be what young Viserys should witness. Once she stood next to Varys, Aerys clapped his hands. "Ser Manly, bring the prisoners!"

Newly appointed Lord Commander of the City Watch, Manly Stokeworth was enthusiastic and loyal. He beamed and summoned other guards, dragging the two prisoners forth and forcing them to kneel in front of their King. At the sight of them, Rhaella hid a gasp… something the crowd didn't.

Lord Rickard and Brandon Stark, both filthy and ragged from being set upon by fists and truncheons. They were both tied up with their hands behind their backs, three goldcloaks guarding them in full armor. Gags were in their mouths, which were removed by order of Lord Connington. Brandon sputtered and glared at the throne. "This is a travesty!" He whipped his head around at the court. "You're all witnesses to this fucking, criminal travesty!" Of the goldcloaks kicked him in the back, sending him sprawling.

While what the King was planning didn't sit right with him, Connington was resolved to find this satisfying. "Lord Rickard Stark, Brandon Stark," he announced with a ghost of a smile. "The both of you are hereby branded enemies of the Crown."

"Bull, fucking shit!" Brandon snarled. "You're fucking murderers, both of you!" He headbutted a guard and tried to rush the throne, but was subdued quickly. Jaime admired the lad's spunk.

"To what grounds?" asked Rickard, tone even… though with a thinly-veiled anger.

Aerys laughed. "To what grounds?" He scoffed, spitting at the Starks, "Here are the fucking grounds, traitorous fool! You let your bitch of a daughter become a heartbeat away from becoming Queen, only to know she committed witchcraft?! Threatens to bring the Doom upon us all?" He motioned to Connington. "Read the evidence so we can get this over with!"

Citing the found helm, the favor emblazoned with the Stark direwolf, the 'confession' of the guard, Rickard took it all with stoic silence. Waiting for Connington to finish before he addressed the King. "Allow me to recite my evidence."

"Be silenced, fool…" Willam Darry began before the King held up his hand.

"Wait." He leaned back, smirking. "I want to hear what he thinks I did." This was so delightful.

Narrowing his eyes, Rickard's voice was every inch a proud Lord of the North. "Aerys Targaryen, you have committed assault upon Princess Lyanna Targaryen and the murder of the unborn Prince or Princess in her womb." There were some gasps, as the baby wasn't widely known. "And Jon Connington and Grand Maester Pycelle, you have committed the murder of Lord Jon Arryn of the Vale."

"Murderers! You're the murderers!" Brandon snarled.

Surprised, Rhaella looked at the Lord Hand. "Is this true?"

Connington said nothing, but the King replied. "He was a damned traitor anyway," tacitly admitting it. "I've heard enough. Carry out the execution in the name of your King!"

"Of course, your Grace." Connington motioned to Stokeworth, who nodded and forward with the other goldcloaks. They grabbed the Starks and lifted them off their feet.

"Fuck you!" Brandon screamed, kicking at them. "Rhaegar and Ned will kill you all!" More guards and servants came forward with two large litters stacked with fetters and logs, while others looped two harnesses from the rafters. Tying them around the Starks' arms and shoulders to suspend them above the pyres. It was obvious to all there what they were doing.

Scurrying forward, Lord Rossart has a skeletal smile upon his gaunt face. "I would say it is an honor, Lord Stark," he offered to Rickard in a hoarse voice. "For I am greatly looking forward to this." Licking his lips, the Master Pyromancer opened his mouth to speak just as Rickard spit in his face.

"Fuck you," Rickard breathed, turning his head to stare at the King. "Winter will come for you, Aerys Targaryen."

The King scoffed. "Am I supposed to be scared?" he taunted.

"You will be when this is over, my King. The ice and snow will engulf you."

"Ice does not concern a dragon."

"You are no dragon!" Brandon yelled, still fighting against the restraints.

Scowling, Aerys' fists clenched on the throne. "Rossart? Is it ready?"

The pyromancer nodded. "Yes, your Grace. I only await your command."

Suddenly someone fell to her knees at the foot of the Iron Throne, grasping at the King's legs. He recoiled back, only to find Rhaella pleading with wide eyes. "Please, your Grace. Please, brother… mercy! For the sake of our son!"

A snarl curled on his face. "That traitor is no son of mine." Before he could order her dragged away or strike her, Ser Jaime hauled Rhaella up - carrying her down the steps.

"Let me go!" she yelled. "Mercy, brother! Mercy! You know not what you start!"

"Get her out of here, Lannister!" He barked. Gods, she was an embarrassment. Thankfully her cries of mercy faded out, leaving nothing but his perfectly staged ceremony. The moment he would finally take control and banish the traitors from his realm. _Oh, Jenny… you have failed. The bitch you sent to bring the Doom will die soon._

Ready to give the command, Aerys hesitated. A moment of lucidity penetrating the haze of his brain. Rhaegar would never hand over his bride, he would never tolerate such an insult. The north would go to war to avenge their Lord, and after the revelation reached the Eyrie so would the Vale. Did he want war? Did he want to have to kill his own son.

_"You have doubts, my King…"_

There… the voice. His gaze softened as the soothing tendrils of the mysterious voice wrapped around him. It was always there to calm him, to protect him from evil. To set him on the proper path.

_"Even the wisest have doubts, but the greatest among us are bold and decisive."_

Bold and decisive… the actions of the mighty. The actions of a dragon.

_"Yes, my King. A dragon, you are the dragon reborn to the world."_

A power flowed through Aerys. Warm and comforting, yet one that stoked his strength. Made him feel invulnerable. A great beast soaring in the skies, untouched by man or god.

_"What does a dragon do to those who would do it harm? Burn them all…"_

Aerys locked eyes with Rickard."

_"Burn them all…"_

He saw the defiance within the gaze.

_"Burn them all…"_

Anger coursed through him at the thought of a direwolf defying the dragon.

_"Burn them all…"_

Suddenly his voice roared through the chamber. "BURN THEM ALL!" And euphoria…

Without hesitation Rossert drew his flints and struck them together. Spark catching on the fuse that started burning fast. Spreading closer and closer till it reached the wildfire-soaked logs and fetters underneath the suspended Starks. "Everything burns, Lord Stark!" he cackled, drawing back as the green flames suddenly sprang alive. A wall of heat shooting in every direction, many courtiers stumbling over, unprepared for the fury of wildfire.

The pain was instantaneous. Roaring furiously, the tall flames began to lick at the feet and legs of the still finely dressed Rickard and Brandon Stark. The latter began to scream, agony of the searing flames unbearable even only against his feet. The former held strong, refusing to relent even as his feet roasted within his boots. He was a direwolf of House Stark and they never howled in pain… but the wildfire racing up his leg broke even him.

Aerys' eyes shone as he watched it unfold. Smiling in ecstasy at the green flames, color reflected in the violet. Every bit of fear and weakness that had grasped him was gone in that moment. In this, he finally found the power and control he so sought. "Lewyn! Bring me my son!" The Kingsguard complied, face unseen under his helm. Depositing the trembling Prince Viserys on the King's lap. "Are you scared, son?" Aerys whispered softly to the Prince.

Viserys nodded. "Yes,_ kepa."_ By now the flames engulfed the entire lower half of the Starks, both screaming in pain. Curdling blood of even the most hardened sycophant of Aerys II Targaryen. "My ears hurt."

"You are a dragon, Viserys. Watch." The boy peeked and then looked away. Brandon and Rickard's legs had almost burned to ash… only for Aerys to grab his chin and force Viserys to look. "Watch it! This is who you are! You are a dragon, and a dragon doesn't plant trees."

His arms still trembled. "A dragon doesn't plant trees…"

"Say it again."

"A dragon doesn't plant trees." Brandon Stark began to howl. Wolf cries echoing into the chamber - joined later by Rickard. Mournful requiems of the line of the Kings of Winter - with winter came House Stark, remembering all.

Fury stoked by the defiant cries, Aerys gripped the jaw of his son tighter. "Say it again!"

In that instant, Viserys' eyes seemed to glow just like his father's. "A dragon doesn't plant trees." The howls petered out as the green flames engulfed them all. "I am a dragon."

"Good! Very good!"

Death was close, they could feel it. All their flesh cooking alive, the sweet embrace of death close enough to touch. "Lya…" Brandon murmured, blackness coming. "Brother, avenge me…"

Rickard's last word was less defiant. More peaceful, the flames giving way to a light as bright as snow. "My love," he gasped, suddenly seeing his late wife. "Lyarra… I am here again…"

The wildfire burned for almost ten more minutes. Aerys forced everyone to watch as the long-dead corpses of Rickard and Brandon Stark were turned into charred husks dangling from the ceiling. On occasion a bit of ash would fall to the embers below. Most were sickened, some were indifferent, and a few were grinning openly. Among the latter was the king. "Get on it, Connington," he barked.

"Yes, your Grace." Connington was stunned by what happened - indifferent, but stunned. As such, he stuttered as he started the proclamation. "By the order of his Grace, Aerys of House Targaryen, Second of His Name and King of the Seven Kingdoms, the following decrees are made." He cleared his throat. "Lyanna of House Stark is declared guilty of treason and witchcraft and sentenced to death. Eddard of House Stark is declared guilty of treason and sentenced to death. House Stark is hereby stripped of all titles and lands."

Gods, it was music to Aerys' ears. "Remember, son, a dragon must burn all traitors."

"Burn them all," Viserys murmured, and was rewarded by his father kissing his head. Aerys never kissed him.

"Furthermore…" It pained Connington to say the next, but it was necessary for now. "Rhaegar of House Targaryen is stripped of his birthright and name. Prince Viserys of House Targaryen is hereby declared heir to the Iron Throne." Decrees finished, he clasped his hands together. "All hail the King! Long may he reign!"

It rang in Aerys' ears. "Long may he reign!"

The voice was pleased. _"You have done well, my King."_

_And now for them to destroy each well, my King. Soon all your enemies will burn before you."_

_Soon, all of you will destroy each other..._

* * *

The tears were unavoidable at first… but there was a moment where the pain and anger had gone beyond tears. Beyond even yelling and screaming. There stood Rhaella, hunched over the hearth. She gripped the stone lip tightly - as if the physical pain of her white knuckles would ground her. Drive into her the reality of what her husband… her brother did.

Rickard burned. Brandon burned. Jon Arryn dead by Tears of Lys, Lyanna to be put to death. _Rhaegar… Viserys… my sons…_ One stripped of his birthright and likely exiled while the other was forced to endure the full force of Aerys' madness. Who among them was the worst off? By the gods she knew Jon Arryn was the luckiest… at least his death was quick.

_There will be war…_ There would certainly be war. Rhaegar would die for his beloved Lyanna. Eddard Stark and Elbert Arryn calling the banners - the Tullys and the Lannisters to join them. On her husband's side the ambitious Tyrells would stubbornly stand, joined by the Lords of the Crownlands. Robert Baratheon would slay thousands if it meant getting revenge for her son winning Lyanna's heart. _Just like his grandfather… and grandmother._ Rhaella knew her sister well.

Rivers of blood. Lakes of blood. Oceans of blood graced the future of the realm. _Gods, what have we done to merit this curse?! Has our bloodline and culture paid for contrition in our blood?!_ The answers would not come, and so Rhaella would continue to be plagued with the reality of her hellish existence.

"Ser Jaime!" Her eyes widened, whatever blood remaining in her head washing away in fear. "Of course you're here like a good little cub." The voice came from outside her chamber door. Strong and confident, wicked and powerful… a feeling she hadn't heard from the King in over a decade. "Stay here and don't move a fucking inch."

"Yes, your Grace," she heard her sweet bodyguard croak. _Oh no… Jaime…_ Tormenting the beloved son of Tywin Lannister was a pastime for Aerys, and to most torture him would be to…

The doors flew open and her husband entered, grin on his lips and a spring in his step. "Oh dearest Rhaella, how glorious is this day?!"

She blinked at him incredulously - watching Jaime's green eyes find hers before the doors shut in front of him. Rhaella missed them greatly. "You're a monster!" There really was no sugarcoating anything anymore. Not after what happened.

"I prefer the term dragon," he beamed, eying her like a hungry predator. He hadn't done that since their first stillbirths… Rhaella's eyes found a tent lower in his robes. _Gods… please no._ "For once this realm has one that sits on a throne."

"You are no dragon, husband," she yelled, tears starting to fall as she shook from anger and fear. He reeked of sweat and smoke… of burnt meat, the stench of what had been her son's goodfather and goodbrother. Rhaella fought not to vomit. "Just a kinslayer."

His eyes darkened. "You say this to me on the day of my glorious triumph? At the moment we are about to create a Valyrian Princess for our son?"

He truly was lost. "You have lost everything, Aerys. Rhaegar…"

Rhaella saw stars when he struck her. "Do not speak his cowardly name in my presence again!" Aerys moved to kiss her when she struck him back - an elbow to the gut. "You little bitch!" Grabbing a poker from the hearth, he advanced on his now running wife. Striking her as he could. "Get the fuck back here, sweet sister!"

Heart beating out of her chest, Rhaella grabbed whatever she could to throw at him. Frantic, eyes wide in terror. "Brother! Stop!" she shrieked, picking up a small knife from her used to open wax seals.

The King saw this and laughed. Mind clouded with the green tongues of wildfire. _I am the dragon!_ "You think you can slay me? Be a kinslayer yourself, sweet sister?" She lunged at him, only for Aerys to sidestep it, bringing the metal rod again and again on her back and sides. "Get on the fucking bed!" Rhaella shoved him back, racing away. "Get back here, sister!"

She kicked the door to their bathchamber closed, hearing it smack. "Brother! Stop!" Rhaella screamed, rivers of tears stained with blood and snot running down her cheeks. Tripping on her vanity stool, she fell to the marble floor. Crying out in pain as her husband's steps stomped closer to her. "Think of _muna!"_

Aerys stopped where he was, clenching the poker tightly. Her words echoing in his head. An image of Betha Blackwood, her smile loving and her eyes sparkling, filled his mind. Breaking through the green-tinged haze for but a moment… only for the wildfire within to roar back. "_Muna_'s dead!" he bellowed, kicking down the door and advancing on the hapless Rhaella.

_"No, Aerys! Stop!"_

_"You're mine, slut! Mine to breed!"_ Further screams echoing from beyond the door to the royal chambers. Each one a knife to Jaime's heart. Over and over and over again… _"Mine!"_

The Lannister knight shook. Hearing nothing but the screams of the woman he loved desperately. _"You're hurting me! Stop… I'm begging you!"_ A faint crack rang out, the King bashing her with his fist.

_"My son will have a dragon bride!"_ Clothes ripping, Jaime's hand drifted to his sword. Teeth gritting as his fingers wrapped around the hilt. Ready to storm in and run it through the King's back. _"You will give me one!"_

_"Aerys… ahhhh"_ Her wails pierced his ears.

_"Mine!"_

_Protect her…_

_Not from him._

As the Queen screamed, Jaime stood there. Hand on his sword, but unmoving. Unable to do anything for her…

And wanting to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, for Dany to be conceived the worst had to happen. It was not easy to write, and much harder for Rhaella and Jaime to deal with :(
> 
> But yes, the Starks couldn't escape death this time around. Only this time Aerys has no leg to stand on - Rickard and Brandon were completely innocent of even stupidity.
> 
> Next time, Lyanna will have to find out the truth. Not going to be pretty :(


	43. Farewell, My Loves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Today's my birthday! Thought it would be perfect to get out a chapter today :D
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

"Well, well, your Grace." Prodding her stomach with his finger, Lyanna yelped a bit at the maester's firm motions. "You are definitely with child."

The northern Princess wanted desperately to feel happy. "And… is he… is he healthy, Maester Qyburn?" It was almost choked out.

Beside her, Elia gripped her hand tight - putting on a braver face but just as nervous. Her husband leaned down from where he stood, mouth by her ear. "I love you," he whispered. Gods, without both Lyanna would undoubtedly be lost.

Maester Qyburn was a wiry man with slicked-back hair. Eyes twinkling with an inquisitive nature that didn't hide why he sought out the Citadel. "You need not worry, Princess. I don't see any reason you should worry about the little Prince."

Elia simpered with glee as she hugged Lya. Rhaegar was more circumspect, kissing the crown of her head - but a glance up found his eyes watering. Lyanna let out a relieved breath, letting herself feel the joy of the babe in her womb and the love they all felt for him. "Oh gods," she murmured, laughing softly. "You're sure?"

"I earned a gold link in my chain for exceptional knowledge in the methods of human quickening, your Grace," he smiled, patting a golden link. No maester she had seen ever had one, let alone the dozen he had.

"You should be an Archmaester then," Rhaegar observed. "The Citadel needs more men like you."

The wiry maester sighed. "Alas, my desired choice of study always butted heads against orthodoxy. It was either take my chain away or accept whatever outlying keep needed a maester." Taking a concoction from his shelf, he handed the bottle to Lyanna. "Take this with each breaking fast to ensure proper growth, and exercise regularly while avoiding stress."

"Don't worry, maester," Rhaegar replied. "I make sure they get plenty of exercise." It took a split second before they caught his meaning, Elia and Lyanna blushing madly.

"I can't believe you said that, Rhaegar," Lyanna chided, smacking his chest for the fourth time as they walked back to their chambers. She was held tight against his side, relishing the closeness.

"You should know by now our husband's propensity to tease," smirked Elia. "It's better than his brooding, though he is handsome in both." Almost puffing out with his ego stroked, she caught the eye of her sister-wife and they laughed at Rhaegar's antics. "That was a relief, though," she sighed.

Lyanna reached down to rub her belly. "You heard the maester, Jon. You are strong."

Rhaegar wrinkled his nose. "Are we sure about Jon? Why not a proper Valyrian name, like Daeron, or Jaehaerys?"

"I'll have you know that Jon was the chosen name of our Valyrian Prince," Lyanna smirked, kissing Rhaegar's chin. She would always treasure that memory of the marketplace. "Jon Targaryen, a powerful dragon."

"Dragonwolf," Elia corrected, smiling at the thought. "I suppose that makes Rhaenys and Aegon dragonspears."

"I think sun dragons to be a better term," Rhaegar remarked, only for him to frown.

Elia noticed. "Gods, husband. What do you have to brood upon now?" It was very clear something serious was on his mind.

"Rhaenys, what shall we tell her of the babe?"

Both Princesses sighed, eyes sad. Their eldest had largely gotten over the atrocities inflicted upon their little family by King Aerys, but Visenya's death… changed her. She had matured greatly, but her carefree, mischievous streak had dimmed greatly. They knew she wouldn't take this well. "I hadn't considered that, honestly." Elia had been swept up by the joy of Lyanna's quickening… as well as her growing sexual appetite.

"Would you want me to…"

Rhaegar was cut off by Lyanna. "I'll do it." _She pains because of my loss, my suffering._ "She needs to hear it from my lips." After a short silence, Rhaegar merely pulled his brides into a hug… just what they needed.

Parting with both her loves, Lyanna bit her lip as she arrived at the door to Rhaenys' chamber. Knocking for propriety's sake, she entered to find a familiar sight. "Morning, Rhae," she said warmly.

As expected, Rhaenys was sitting quietly, Balerion in her lap. At seeing Lyanna, her eyes sparkled. "Muna." Instead of getting up and running to her, she simply beamed.

Lyanna smiled back. _Quiet… less carefree._ There was growing up and there was this - not at all normal for a child like Rhaenys had been. Striding over, she picked up the little Princess, cat and all. "How is my little dragon this morning?"

She giggled. "I'm well, _muna._ Just… enjoying quiet."

"That doesn't sound like the mischievous little dragon I know," she smirked, nuzzling her shoulder. Rhae merely cocked her head to the side, seeing right through her. "I need to tell you something important."

Rhaenys' expression was perfectly Elia. It made Lyanna love her more. "What's wrong, muna?" she asked as she was set down on the bed. Balerion curled to sleep at the edge of the bed.

Lyanna stroked a hand through the raven curls. "You're so much like your muna and kepa." Taking a deep breath, Lyanna met Rhae's violet eyes. "Little dragon, you're having another brother."

There was instant recognition. "Babe?" she asked, setting a hand on Lyanna's stomach. "Brudther?"

Lyanna nodded. "Aye. A new prince and brother." She was hopeful.

The next words dashed her hope. "No!" Rhaenys' breathing quickened. It was horrible. Her muna…

Trying to remain calm, Lyanna wrapped her arms around Rhaenys. "Sweetling, it's alright…"

"No! Not alright!" But her muna held her tight. Hearing Lya's heartbeat, it became too much. Whatever hope she had of staying strong as she had for a whole moon was dashed, Rhaenys breaking out into sobs.

"Rhae… don't cry." The scene tugged at Lyanna's heartstrings.

"No babe… babe almost took you from me…" she said between tears. "No lose you, muna."

"You won't lose me."

"I will, and it my fault…"

Lyanna was confused, but continued to stroke her back through the cute purple dress she wore. "Why by the gods would it be your fault?"

She buried her face into Lyanna's dress. "I made grandfather hurt you… first time. Then he hurt you cause babe… now new babe…"

It made sense, Rhae's personality change. A combination of selfless guilt and utter worry for her life. There was no doubt she was Rhaegar's daughter. "Listen to me, my little dragon. Dragons and wolves protect each other."

"Pack survives," Rhaenys mumbled.

"Aye, together it survives." She was a very smart young lady. "We're gonna protect each other, I promise."

There was a silence only broken by soft cries and sniffles, Rhae trembling in Lyanna's arms. "Can…" She sniffled. "Can I touch babe?"

"You certainly may."

Leaning down, Rhaenys placed her hands on her muna's belly. "Hi bro...ther…" She stroked the soft skin. "You part of my pack, now. I protect you lots and lots." Her tiny lips pecked just above Lyanna's navel. "Love you, brother."

Feeling the tears return, this time of happiness, Lyanna hugged Rhaenys back to her.

* * *

"And so… when Lord Stark asked Bael about the payment for his singing, he requested only the most beautiful flower blooming in Winterfell's gardens. As one would think," Benjen stated, "Brandon gave him a winter rose."

"Winter roses are beautiful," Rhaegar mused. "As are the girls they crown."

Lyanna rolled her eyes as both Elia and Ashara swooned - only half done to irritate her. "You're lucky I'm already married to you. A poet you're not."

He smirked. "Liar." Lyanna chucked a throw pillow at him from where she sat and they all laughed.

"Anyways…" Benjen was regaling them with the tale of the great Bael the Bard on the hot afternoon along the Torrentine, making them forget about the winter's heat in the guest solar even for a little while. "The following morning, the maiden daughter of Lord Stark had disappeared, and in her bed was the blue winter rose."

"Gods…" Elia hadn't expected that. "What is it with Stark girls and mysterious, handsome singers? It's happened twice now."

"Not you too, Elia." Had her sister-wife not been massaging her swollen feet at the moment, Lya would have smacked her with the throw pillows too… but it felt too good to rock that boat.

Ashara grinned at Lyanna. "She has a point, your Grace."

"Twice in two thousand years does not count as a trend, although after long marrying other northerners, we have a weakness for dashing, exotic lovers." Rhaegar's Valyrian features - especially in his loose tunic and red trousers so easy for her to strip him from - simply made her wet just by looking at him. Eyes shifting back to Elia, seeing her smooth honey skin and revealing Dornish dress also confirmed her statement.

_Stop it, Jon. You're making muna too ravenous._ It was weird to say to her babe, but it was true. Pregnant, Lya was simply insatiable in bed.

She could feel his eyes trained on her. "Lya, what are you thinking?"

Looking up at him, she smiled. "How happy I am. Of all the people I love." With the coup rapidly coming, Lyanna learned to enjoy these days as long as they lasted.

Fate, had other plans. A knock at the door drew Benjen to it, finding a servant. "Dispatches for his Grace." Bowing, the man left as quickly as he came.

"Who's it from?" asked Elia as Benjen handed them to Rhaegar.

"Hmmm… one from Connington and one from my mother." He opened Connington's first, brows knit in confusion from the first line. "This is odd…"

_Rhaegar Targaryen_

_You are instructed by Royal Decree to return to King's Landing at once with your family._

_Jon Connington_

_Hand of the King_

Read out loud, it was Ashara that answered first. "He didn't call you by your title as Crown Prince. Something's wrong."

Thinking hard, Rhaegar came up with nothing. "Jon's always had a flair for the dramatic," he figured, taking his mother's letter and breaking the wax seal with his thumb - pursing his lips as he read the elaborate script. "Wouldn't surprise me if…"

Sensing he stopped abruptly, Lyanna looked up. "My love? You were saying?"

Blown eyes trained on the words in front of him, Rhaegar's face went white as chalk. His knees wobbled, slowly backing up until he reached a table by which he could prop himself up. Of all he expected his mother to say - even the most outlandish and far-fetched - nothing could have prepared him for this. Ice filled his veins… freezing the dragonblood if that was even possible.

Now Lyanna was worried. She shared concern with Elia, who stopped rubbing her feet. "Rhaegar? What's wrong?"

Mouth opening to reply, nothing came out. Rhaegar's jaw flopped open and closed like a fish - the words simply died on his throat. _How… how can I tell her this…_ "Give it here," Ashara demanded. It was a level of familiarity that Arthur had earned, but was too chivalrous to use - his sister would use it for him as Lady in Waiting and close friend to Elia. Not a few seconds into her reading did she let out a half-hiss, half-growl. "Fuck… just… fuck…" How else could she describe this?

The greatest worry filled the northern princess. "What happened? Rhaella? Viserys?" There were few things that could get her husband this panicked. _Oh no… Aerys…_ "Rhaegar," she begged. "Please tell me…"

"Your father and brother are dead." He croaked. Scared to see her world shatter yet again, but making sure to look into her eyes all the same.

Lyanna blinked, as if not registering. "What?" It hadn't hit her yet.

Elia rose, trembling. "Ash, let me see." Ashara handed over the letter from her limp hands, Elia quickly scanning it. Shock hitting her for a split second, followed by a deep rage. "That sadistic cunt!" she screamed. "That fucking vicious mad cunt!" Elia slammed a closed fist against the wall, honey-brown eyes blazing - ignoring the throbbing in her hand. "Damn him to all the seven fucking hells!"

It didn't take long for Lyanna to put it together. Suddenly she felt as if a Baratheon warhammer had slammed in her chest. "No…" She sat up, eyes wide and alert.

"What?!" Young and brash, Benjen was incredulous. "What do you mean, they're dead?! What the fuck happened?!"

"No... you're lying." She knew what they would say, and wasn't having it. "It's not true!" Her sister-wife didn't reply, only walking close to her and handing off the letter. Rhaella's script passed forth for the last time. Hands trembling, Lyanna read the words, letting out a gasp of agony.

_By the Seven, my son. Your goodfather and goodbrother are dead! Gods forgive me for being the one to destroy whatever happiness you've found in Dorne, but your father's last strings of sanity have snapped. And dear Lyanna and her family found itself in the face of the flames._

_Somehow, Aerys discovered about Lya being the Knight of the Laughing Tree. He declared it witchcraft and had Brandon and Rickard Stark burned alive with wildfire, while putting a bounty on Lya's head and stripping House Stark of all titles and authority. What's worse, he stripped you of your name and birthright._

_Also, it seems Jon was responsible for the death of Jon Arryn. Someone snuck the news out of the city and now Lord Elbert has called his banners for revenge. The city reeks of wildfire as all prepare for war._

_I can't tell you what to do or where to go, but please do not waste time. Forget about me and protect your family. Find a way to finish this, for all our sakes._

_Your Muna._

Paper falling to the floor, Lyanna sat there, unable to move. Her world suddenly stopped, mind blank as it tried to comprehend what she had just read. _Father… Bran… burned alive…_ Only half a minute had passed, but it felt like years. The same monster that took away her beloved Visenya had now killed more of her family... "It can't be true… It just can't…" She looked upon Rhaegar, upon Ashara. "This is some sick jape, right?" It had to be… there was no way the gods could be this cruel.

_You lost your child…_

A hand went to cup her still flat stomach on instinct.

Seeing the truth, Benjen collapsed into a chair, armor clinking. Face expressionless as he sat dazed. This couldn't be happening. His father and brother couldn't be dead.

But it was happening. "It's not a jape," Rhaegar said, his own face twisted in pain. "My mother would never lie, and it was her writing. I can tell." Oh, how he wished it weren't true. That his love wouldn't have to suffer more simply because she married him. That there wouldn't be war… but only those were true, not the hope of happiness.

Her breathing grew heavy, heart clenched in a vice. "No! No, you're lying!"

Anger still raging, Elia heard her sister-wife and immediately calmed. "Lya…"

"Tell me it's a jape!" Her scream shook the room, but it held no anger. "Please…"

Elia threw her arms around Lyanna. "Oh, my love. I'm so sorry."

Normally the soft embrace of the Dornish Princess would soothe Lyanna, but in the state she was in. _I'll never see father's tiny smile, feel his fingers ruffle my hair… never will hear Bran's laugh again… dead… dead… burned alive… wildfire… Knight of the Laughing Tree…_ Both of them killed for her and her impulsiveness. "My fault." She began to feel short of breath… My fault...

Hearing those words from her brought Elia physical pain. "No, my love. It wasn't your fault… that monster…" She hadn't grown too close to the Starks apart from perhaps Ned, but the anguish of Lyanna was enough to bring her to tears. "Please, Lya…"

Lyanna was beyond tears. Unable to breathe, heart being pressed on by an unseen weight. She collapsed onto Elia's shoulder, hyperventilating. "Bran… father… dead… burned alive… Jon… Jon…" It was all happening again. Her nightmares coming true, all falling apart.

At Elia's panicked look, Rhaegar gestured to Ashara. "Find Maester Qyburn. Now!" The woman was only glad to comply. He then dashed to beside his brides, enveloping them in his comforting arms. "Calm, Lya… calm… I'm here, I love you. I love you. I love you…"

Her breathing began slowing, comforted by both Elia's softness and Rhaegar's enveloping strength. "Jon… Rhaenys… Egg... not safe… our babes…"

"Nothing will happen to our babes, my loves," Rhaegar murmured, holding them tighter. "I will kill anyone that harms them." Hearing a throat clear, the Prince's eyes met his goodbrother's. Seeing the burning resolve within Benjen's gaze… knowing his own mirrored it.

Both knew what had to be done.

Both knew war had come to Westeros, and if their family was to survive they'd have to win.

And it terrified Rhaegar.

* * *

What brought only pain for the Targaryen family instead brought panic to the great hall of Starfall. Everyone trying to yell over the other as they argued.

"Aerys Targaryen disgraces our Princess!" bellowed Ser Gerold Dayne, the 'Darkstar.' "And he has murdered the Leige Lord of my unborn cousin's mother in cold blood! It's time we bring the wroth of Dorne upon him!" The four-and-ten nameday old was as brash as he was skilled.

"Sit back down before you hurt yourself!" barked the graceful young beauty Lady Larra Blackmont. She had just arrived the previous day from her keep further north on the Torrentine to greet the Crown Prince, and not only had she found her House's longtime rival House Peake there, but a brewing civil war. It irritated her and the young Darkstar suffered for it. "Gonna bring ruin to Dorne if you go off yelling like a wildling into every battle."

Alaric Dayne interjected for his cousin. "We're already deep, my Lady. Gods, do you think the favor curryers of Aerys' court will let House Dayne survive from this?"

"House Peake sides with you, my Prince," proclaimed Titus Peake. "Name where you wish for us to go and we will follow you."

"So will I, my Prince." Myles Mooton - a former squire and current sworn sword alongside Richard Lonmouth - was utterly loyal. Even to the point of defying their lieges would they fight for Rhaegar, though Ser Myles was less likely to betray House Tully than Ser Richard was to betray House Baratheon. All knew where Robert would go.

Seated at the lord's table, Rhaegar rubbed his temples. He had listened to their squabbling for over an hour and it hadn't ceased. "There can be no peace now. War is for certain…"

Lord Althos' voice was still powerful. "Lord Arryn calls his banners. Soon Lord Stark will as well. King Aerys has no shortage of enemies, and it is a close run thing for you to be declared one as well by the rebels."

"My goodbrother would do no such thing!" Rhaegar exclaimed, only to sigh. _Ned wouldn't… but his bannermen might._ "By the nature of my father's declaration, I am just as much an enemy as they are."

"You will face the might of the Stormlands for sure," Lady Blackmont cut in. "Not to mention the oaf Mace Tyrell.".

And yet, another guest found himself insulted. "My father is not an oaf!" Three-and-ten Garlan Tyrell, squire to the Crown Prince, shouted. "He's just confused and without recourse!"

The condemnation of Rhaegar's retinue was swift. "Shut up, whelp," Ser Richard snarled.

Benjen Stark lept in, his mood just as foul if not more so. "We all know why your father sold his soul to the Mad King!" He was itching to lash out. Had it not been at the meeting it would have been at the training yard. "Backing a monster in exchange for your infant sister becoming Viserys' Queen."

"That's not true…!"

All bickering was cut off as the doors swung open - revealing the Princesses. Guarded by Barristan Selmy and Arthur Dayne, each stood side by side with Lady Dacey and Starfall's own Ashara Dayne behind them. All stood, bowing to the two beauties as they walked by - easily noticing their clasped hands. Elia met their eyes, studying them, while Lyanna kept her head high. Eyes red and sunken with grief but still tall and powerful in the red and black dress of her house by marriage.

Every inch a Targaryen Queen.

Ashara took a seat among her father and brother, squeezing Elia's free hand while kissing Arthur's cheek. Tellingly for those present, Dacey sat there too, brought into House Dayne regardless of marital status. One of them, and it made the Queens smile softly as they reached the Lord's table. Elia hugged Rhaegar closely, kissing his jaw before sitting - while Rhaegar approached Lyanna, she stopped him with a searing kiss to the lips. A united front against the world, just what he needed them to be.

Still standing, Rhaegar looked upon the hall. "I have listened to what all have had to say." Everything had been coming to this moment - much as he had lived in denial, Rhaegar knew it would arrive. "And have made my decision." Glancing at both his Queens, they nodded at him - love evident. It was time…

_I was never going to be the dutiful son no matter what I did._ Once the madness took over, his father was doomed. Rhaegar saw that now.

"For too long my father has been ruling the Seven Kingdoms with an unsound mind." He sighed, mentally leaning on his beloveds even in their time of sorrow. "The murder of my goodfather and goodbrother only proclaimed his inner demons to the world."

"What will you do, your Grace?" Lord Peake asked.

"I will take my birthright." There was an awed silence, witnessing history. "My father no longer lives, all that made Aerys Targaryen now gone." Rhaegar drew Blackfyre, holding it vertically against his chest. "I go to war against the cabal that controls the shell my father was, and I will claim the Iron Throne."

Arthur Dayne's voice boomed into the hall of his ancestral home. "All hail Rhaegar of House Targaryen, First of His Name. King of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

The moment should have shook him, but instead Rhaegar felt a weight lift from his chest. "I do not expect to command you, but I ask that you join me in this fight."

Several moments passed before Ashara Dayne, the beauty of Starfall being the first to swear allegiance to King Rhaegar I Targaryen of the House of the Dragon. A fact committed to detail by Maester Qyburn for his future histories. "Long may he reign."

The aging, hobbled Lord Althos Dayne slowly stood… and slowly bent the knee as his daughter did. "Long may he reign."

Alaric Dayne was next. "Long may he reign!"

Titus Peake drew his sword and knelt. "Long may he reign!"

Lady Melisandre smirked, eyes never leaving Rhaegar as she knelt. "Long may he reign!"

Barristan and Oswell made their choice. "Long may he reign!"

The Lord Commander followed, loyalty to the true King. "Long may he reign!"

His father having chosen Aerys, Garlan nevertheless went with the man he loved and respected. "Long may he reign!"

All others in the hall knelt, filling Rhaegar's chest with a surreal pride. "Long may he reign!"

On his left, Rhaegar felt Elia kiss his jaw lovingly - her slim, soft form pressed into his side. "Long may he reign."

On his right, his eyes spotted Lyanna… looking with pride in the man she loved. "Long may he reign." She guided her hand to her belly - it was as if Rhaegar could feel the babe inside her.

_For them, I fight._

Essence wafting through the great hall, a gentle, ethereal spirit smiled. Knowing her first champion in centuries had finally woken from his slumber. _'We are with you, Rhaegar Targaryen.'_

* * *

It was not something she looked forward to, but the uncertainty of it all pulled Princess Elia Targaryen away from her husband, sister-wife, and children to seek out a woman she was sure she despised. A woman that opened the door on Elia's second knock as if she knew. "My Queen."

"Lady Melisandre." Elia didn't even bother to hide her disdain as she walked in. She had obvious reasons to hate the woman - especially since she was travelling with Rhaegar on his journey north. It filled her with fire and jealousy, but something drove her to ask something of Melisandre. The only greater emotions than anger… love and fear. "I… I want to see the future."

Raising an eyebrow, Melisandre regarded Elia curiously. Fire-red hair wild to the world only enhancing her exotic appearance - it made Elia want to roll her eyes. There was no woman that could match her Lyanna in beauty. "You wish for my Lord to provide you his guidance?"

"Yes." Best play along.

"Why?"

Elia sighed. "Because I worry about my husband… I worry about my wife… my children." In spite of herself, a tear formed in her eye. "I need to know what will happen. Can you provide it?"

Two red eyes raked over her before turning to the hearth. "The Lord has shown me many things, your Grace. Life and death, joy and agony, war and peace… along with things I can;t begin to describe." She looked back at Elia. "You will be given not what you seek, but what he chooses to show you. Is that acceptable?"

It took but a moment for Elia to reply. "Do it."

"Alright." Melisandre motioned to the hearth. "Stare into the hearth, let the flames calm and warm you." Elia complied, hearing the almost inaudible High Valyrian chants from the Red Witch as she tossed blessed oil into the flames - making them spark.

"Is this supposed to work?" Elia asked… though it came out far more dazed than she had intended it...

"Look into the flames, my Queen. Let the Lord show you the way."

She blinked, almost sleepy. Elia found her eyes glazing over, orange-red flames hissing and crackling as her gaze fall deep into the fires. Almost as if she was being pulled in...

_Elia emerged in a great waste. Ground baked into nothing but red sand and stone, a red, foreboding sun casting its heat upon it. It didn't faze her, though. The sun was her family's sigil, the source of the life-giving heat that forged dragons by which her husband found his blood and power. It felt… comforting._

_'Dearest Elia…'_

_She looked up, a voice filling her ears. Elia searched around, but found nothing but the barest of deserts._

_The voice still spoke to her. 'Be warned, my sweet Queen. Enemies abound.' In the distance, the moon began a slow and steady rise - sun beginning to dim for each inch in the sky its counterpart gained. Gradually, the heat around her started to cool. Normally she didn't mind the cold, but each bit of it brought nothing but agony to her as she winced in pain. 'Ice is pain. Snow is death. They will destroy you…'_

_It was seductive, the voice appealing to her. Urging her anger and hate at the cold that so hurt her. Casting her condemnation at the moon that was slowly strangling the sun of her house._

_'No, Elia!' Another voice hit her, this one light and innocent despite the frantic tone. Almost as a mother or a dear friend rather than the deep timbre of a lover that came before. 'Ignore the pain. Banish the hate - allow only love and understanding and you will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams.'_

_'The siren offers false hope. Cast it away,' the first voice commanded in such an enticing tone. Around her, light dimming as the sun was being slowly destroyed by the rising moon, a fine black whip of smoke began its journey to wrap around her. 'Destroy the ice and snow. Melt it with the heat of your heart…'_

_And yet another whip appeared, this one a cobalt blue. Encircling her in a spiral as it danced a vicious battle with the black. 'Hold, my dear. Let not your heart be turned to hate and anger. You know that of the north to be of love… of your dearest love…'_

_North… North… Shaking in rage, sweating from the freezing pain, Elia looked up to see the sun dead, replaced by a terrifying moon of ice and death… but Elia sighed. Letting the cold embrace her. For there was nothing of the North that she knew but love…_

_Suddenly she fell onto her back, shielding her eyes as the moon exploded into a brilliant yellow sun. Brighter than the first had ever been. And in the distance, Elia could just hear the cry of a babe…_

Yanking back, Elia sucked in breath after breath. Hand flying to steady her beating heart, frantically searching around to only see the chambers of the Lady Melisandre. "Your Grace… what did you see?"

Recovering her bearings, Elia felt a need to be with her loves. To seek their love after the… confusing, terrifying image. Without another word she walked out, shutting the door behind her.

Sighing, Melisandre turned back to the hearth. "Tell me your secrets, my Lord. What do you wish from the Song of Ice and Fire?" The flames only danced in response.

* * *

"Rhaegar…" Elia gripped her King's muscular ass. "Don't stop… lover…" she murmured into his ear, begging. Pleading as he bottomed out inside her. "Oh…"

"Elia," he hissed through gritted teeth. Her hands on him, her legs wrapped around his back - her cunt squeezing him powerfully. He couldn't count the number of times he had taken Elia that night, but it was never enough. Couldn't make up for the years they denied themselves this… nor what he would have to do. "I love you."

Heart clenching, Elia's mouth gasped silently with each thrust. Looking up at him with the most tender look. "I… love you too…" How could her dragon make her swoon in the middle of the filthiest acts? Her hips bucked with his in tandem, trembling from Rhaegar's thrusts. He rocked stones-deep into her and she still wanted more. "Please…"

How could he deny this goddess? Her walls clutched his cock, Rhaegar's pressure building but holding back stubbornly. Bottoming out into her with long, slow strokes that made Elia writhe in pleasure.

An eager embrace wrapped around him from behind. "Please husband," his other bride's sultry northern burr whispered in his ear. "Make her come… hurry." A wet tongue traced the shell of his ear before latching to his neck, sucking softly - he felt alive.

Elia gasped, pulling him down upon her. Their mouths fusing together in a sloppy kiss. Rhaegar quickened his pace, needing his sun to pulsate around him. To cling to his chest and cock as she quivered her release. She screamed into his mouth, nails nearly clawing his back open in her climax. He hadn't spilled in her this time, but Elia didn't care.

Her other love deserved his seed, and her mouth watered at the prospect of watching it.

Hearing Elia wince when Rhaegar pulled out of her, Lyanna bit her lip. Her husband eying her buxom chest with hunger. She puffed her globes out. Silently giving him permission to ravish her. Gods, she was already wet enough.

But after countless lovemaking Rhaegar even still could surprise her. He pulled her on top of him, Lyanna instinctively straddling his cock. "Fuck… Lya…" Without delay he latched onto a brown nipple, sucking hard. Lyanna almost cried out from the pleasure.

"Take him, my love," Elia gasped, Lyanna's eyes darkening at seeing her pleasuring herself. "Ride our husband. Make him spill inside you." She assaulted her clit. "Make him remember what he fights for."

Words finding her body howling with desire, Lyanna frantically grabbed Rhaegar's cock, letting him slip between her wet lips as he still devoured her breast. Walls stretching to fit him in, he was so deep inside her. _More… more… more… oh, gods…_ Her thighs clenched his hips, skin slapping together. Filling Elia's lecherous gaze with sinful images. The three of them shattering together in a mutual crescendo.

And here they were. Lyanna resting atop her husband while Elia wrapped around his side. Rhaegar held them both, softly stroking their silky smooth skin - completing the wonderful cocoon as the embers of their pleasure burned.

Yet, such a moment wasn't one of happiness. Instead, heartbreak and worry hung in the air. Such kept Rhaegar's hold tight on his Queens. Such had Lyanna and Elia pressed as extensively as they could against their King's skin. As if this would be the last time they would see him.

It was Lya that broke the long-lasting silence first. "Did… did you prepare everything for the morning?" Her voice threatened to break, holding back much.

Rhaegar sighed into her wild brown locks. "Aye. Ravens were sent to all Lord Paramounts and large houses, with instructions to duplicate them. Enough loyal keeps will spread the message, or else the Citadel will for propriety's sake." It had done so for Daemon Blackfyre, spreading news of his claim for the throne as an avowedly neutral act.

"Doesn't matter," murmured Elia, kissing his neck. "As long as Ned and Lord Elbert are receptive, their rookeries will spread the word."

"Will Elbert…"

"He will." Rhaegar was convinced. "He's not foolish enough to take on my father alone. Ned will support me." He sighed. "If only I have allies left in the capitol. Any remaining have probably fled or been killed."

"Just Lewyn and Ser Jaime," Elia breathed. "And Queen Rhaella."

Rhaegar shook his head. "I can't risk my mother's life, and I'm concerned your uncle wouldn't make a move without your brother's approval as head of House Martell."

"What about Varys?" Lya asked.

Elia sighed. "I don't trust him… he… he had to have known about what was happening and failed to tell us."

"How can you be sure?"

"He knows too much not to be knowing of things like this." But such was too deep a conversation for the moment. She merely snuggled further into her husband's side.

"And Lord Hoster?" The Riverlands always suffered in wars of succession. Brandon's betrothal to Catelyn took away their neutrality, but Brandon was dead. "Ned could marry Catelyn, but I can't ask that of him," Lyanna choked out. "Gods, what must he be going through…"

Her sister-wife leaned up to kiss her shoulder. "Ned is strong. He'll make your house proud." Elia felt her husband tense. "Rhaegar?" The question in her tone was obvious.

His eyes were closed, face pained. "It's all my fault."

Elia hugged him tighter. "No, my love…"

"I should have heeded you, but I never thought Jon would…" It sunk in recently… his longtime friend's betrayal. Was his jealousy so severe he would be willing to destroy Rhaegar because of it? Apparently. "I should have…"

In a combined effort, Lyanna and Elia threw themselves upon him - covering Rhaegar's face in fierce kisses. Elia burying her tongue down his open mouth while Lyanna sucked his neck, both palming their favorite part of him. Stoking his fire, needing his fire. Whimpering in a forlorn joy when he rolled them over. Recriminations forgotten in the all consuming, desperate lust of lovers soon to be seperated.

Sleep didn't matter to any of them. Only this, always this.

Unsaid between all three that should one not return to the embraces of their two loves, at least the memories would exist.

* * *

The day had come. The day where Rhaegar Targaryen, First of His Name, would begin his quest for the Iron Throne.

None wanted it to come, none more reluctant than the King-claimant and his Queens. The power of the Iron Throne was still held by Aerys, and only war would dislodge him. Young as they were, the youthful enthusiasm of tourney knights and eager boys were absent. Horror and violence awaited the King-claimant, and the Queens knew this.

Such made the farewell within the outer courtyard of Starfall quite a somber affair.

"Protect them, Arthur," Rhaegar said with a hitch in his voice. The only one among his retinue that hadn't mounted his horse - apart from young Garlan, his squire - the Crown Prince greeted his closest friend. Sworn sword of the Kingsguard, but met as an equal with their hands clasping their forearms. A show of the greatest respect. "Let not harm come to them."

"With my life, your Grace," Arthur replied with conviction. His oath bound him, and now with a family of his own the resolve was only enhanced.

Nodding, Rhaegar turned to his goodbrother. Before he could open his mouth the youngest Stark preempted him. "Winter will come to any that try and harm them." A tiny smile. "Key word being try."

Rhaegar chuckled in spite of the moment. "Good. Thank you, brother."

"Any time… your Grace."

Now it was time to wrench his heart into pieces. What Rhaegar dreaded. For the last year - years before counting the days of a flawed but strong marriage hidden beneath the surface - the Targaryen Prince had found a rock in his beloved brides. Elia, the graceful Dornish Princess and growing political mind, his silent supporter through the greatest trial of his life. Lyanna, the wild northern she-wolf that brought life back to his and Elia's existence. Filled him with the fire needed to do what needed to be done. Rhaegar didn't know what he'd do without them by his side…

_"Kepa!"_

He barely had time to kneel when his daughter leapt on him. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Rhaegar hugged her back, inhaling the scent of her hair. "Rhae…" She smelled just like her mother, and Rhaegar loved his little girl all the more for it.

"Please no go,_ kepa,"_ she begged. Hot tears slipped through the joins in his armor to the tunic beneath.

Rhaegar softly stroked her back. "I must go, little Dragon." Pain filled him for breaking her tiny heart, but it had to be said. "Duty commands it of me."

She was stubborn like both her mothers. "Why?" Rhaenys held to him tighter as he stood from the ground, taking her with him. "Love you, _kepa._ I can't lose you…"

"You won't." By some miracle he managed to loosen their embrace, making her look at him. "You're growing, Rhae - growing into a proud Targaryen Princess." One harm securely wrapped around her waist, Rhaegar cupped his eldest's cheek. "I'm gonna need you to be a brave dragon for me. Protect Egg and your unborn brother, and keep your _munas_ happy." Two wide, bright violet pools stared at him intently. "Alright, little dragon?"

Rhaenys nodded. "I will, _kepa_. I make you proud."

He smiled and kissed her forehead. "I'm already prouder than any man has the right to be, Rhae." Setting her down after a kiss to the cheek, Rhaegar gestured to Dacey. "Go to your aunt Dacey. Your munas need me." Headstrong normally, she thankfully listened.

Stopping right before Elia, he reached one arm around her waist while the other moved to pinch the cheek of the quiet Aegon. Fussing in her arms and reaching for him. "He misses you already," Elia murmured into his neck. "So does his mother."

"I love you, Elia." Rhaegar looked in her eyes. "I know I never always showed it…"

"Shh," she cut him off. "I love you too, husband." Elia promised herself she wouldn't cry now, and it took all her strength not to at that moment. "Do what you must. Don't trust Varys more than necessary." The reason could be left unsaid, they trusted each other. "And win."

"I intend to." Kissing her deeply, committing her feel to memory, no sooner than he had let go of her and Egg did his northern Queen leap on him as Rhaenys had. "Oh Lya…"

Unlike Elia, Lyanna was unable to hide her tears - but she remained composed. "If you die I will never forgive you," she hissed fiercely into his ear. "I'll come into the seven hells and cut off your cock myself."

"You love my cock too much," he whispered back, unable to resist the quip. Lyanna laughed through her repressed sobs and kissed him hard. Their tongues battling in a bittersweet passion. "I will return to the both of you," he promised.

Lyanna bit her lip, guiding his armored palm to her stomach. "Jon needs his _kepa_. Keep your promise." One more savage kiss and it was ended. Rhaegar painfully breaking the embrace and stepping towards Moondancer, leaving the two Queens to stand pressed into each other's sides for whatever comfort they could find.

Garlan bowed his head. "Your Grace." Out came Rhaegar's helm, all of black and with a roaring dragon's head in the crest - two wings of steel rising on each side.

Nodding at his squire, the Prince took the helm and placed it upon his head. Mounting Moondancer with little trouble. "My King," remarked Ser Barristan, who took position next to his sire. "We are ready."

"So we are." Taking one last look at the gathered noncombatants taking refuge in Starfall with Arthur's House, he drew Blackfyre. Holding it high as Moondancer raised on his hind legs. Looking every inch a dragonlord. "Fire and Blood!" he bellowed

"Fire and Blood!" came the reply, words of House Targaryen the loudest from his Queens. Finding comfort in the house of the dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LONG MAY HE REIGN!
> 
> And Rhaegar is off to war in yet another timeline. At least now poor Lyanna won't be alone. She has Elia, her kids, and Benjen to keep her company. After all that heartbreak, she's gonna need all that love.
> 
> Qyburn shows up. I have plans for him.
> 
> Next time, Ned sacrifices much for the survival of his house and his family. Be sure to comment. It's the best birthday gift :D


	44. Duty is the Death of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all. hope things are going well.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

It felt like a chain weighing on him. Ice, the mighty Valyrian steel greatsword of House Stark,

as a prize of lifetimes. Yet for Ned Stark the belt that held the sheathed sword felt like a Sothoryos python slowly crushing him.

_Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North…_ The shouting voices to either side of his perch at the head of the map table were essentially inaudible. _I didn't deserve this… my father is supposed to be here..._

"My Lord, it is time!"

Blinking, Ned shook aside his daze to find the gathered Lords of his war council either staring at him or glaring at Ethan Glover. "You ask us to be fools," replied Wyman Manderly, wider than when he was last here. "To betray our King."

Greatjon Umber snarled. "The King you speak of burned our Lord and future Lord alive!"

"He speaks not of Aerys, but of Rhaegar Targaryen, husband of our she-wolf and the rightful King," Howland Reed remarked, remaining calm. "Do you dare betray Queen Lyanna Targaryen?"

"Shut up, frog-man," Lord Glover hissed back. "Rhaegar and Aerys can fight for the Iron Throne. It is time to fix a centuries long obscenity. It is time for Eddard of House Stark to reclaim the mantle of House Stark - King in the North!" He smacked his hand on the table.

Lord Manderly smacked his hand in return. "Quiet yourself with that shit! We'd be foolish cunts to toss ourselves in the blizzard rather than bring the blizzard to our enemies."

"What use do we have with the south?! Or with the damned dragons?! Lord Rickard did so and was burned alive by Aerys Targaryen. I say fuck them all! We'll do better on our own like northmen always do!"

"We'll fucking starve without the south, you idiot."

His words drew scorn from Helman Tallhart. "Of course Manderly, you've always been a southern bootlicker, too desperate for that trade with your former masters in Oldtown than the welfare of the North."

Wyman flushed bright red. "Say that to my face you cunt."

"I'll say it as I shove my sword up your fat ass…"

"Enough!" Head pounding, Ned glared at his bannermen. Now mine. "You deign to speak for House Stark? As far as I'm concerned, it is my decision for what course the North takes. I will hear your concerns and ideas, but if you seek to toss me aside and bicker like spoiled babes then I'll find Lords that are more agreeable."

Snorting, Roose Bolton looked over Ned with a thinly veiled respect. He was rising to the occasion surprisingly enough. _Time to tie the anchor…_

"Cousin, it is our decision for proclaiming a King in the North," Rickard Karstark observed. "Pushing aside your council will only…"

"There won't be any Kings in the North, nor will I ever entertain such from my bannermen," Ned shouted. "My goodbrother has informed me that he is seeking the Iron Throne as the rightful King, and that's the path we will take. The North will stand with King Rhaegar and Queens Lyanna and Elia of House Targaryen, for better or for worse." He eyed each of them, daring Glover or Tallhart or Karstark to disagree with him. No one did. "Good, now, Lord Umber. Have the final forces of the Mountain Clans arrived close to Winterfell?"

Chuckling, eying Ned with a proud glint, Smalljon Umber shrugged. "I suppose they'll be here within the next day, but the ones we're still waiting on are Glover's men."

Ned glared at Ethan Glover. "Lord Glover, is this true?"

Ethan flushed. "I gave the order for my cousin Robett to march with all haste, and you received a raven indicating their departure three days before…"

"Oh, don't expect them to get here for at least a moon," Lord Karstark offered snidely. "Robett Glover is more craven than a sword-swallowing pansy." Ethan pricked, enduring the jeers of the other Lords.

Sighing, Ned eyed the map. "Well, it looks as if we'll have to march south piecemeal. First to move will be the Mormonts, Manderlys, and Boltons. We should say prayers that none of Aerys' forces ambush our men marching down the Kingsroad…"

"My Lord, there is another issue that precludes anything tactical or logistic in nature." Ned's attention was taken by Roose Bolton, tone so cold and emotionless as if dipped in ice - was the man ever warm? The running jape was that he was so frigid that his first wife died of hypothermia in the bedroom. "How do we know Lord Hoster will allow us passage."

Blinking, Ned didn't seem to understand. "Why do you doubt that?"

"He was only allied with us due to your brother's betrothal to Lady Catelyn. With his unfortunate death…"

Silent for the longest time, Ned found his blood going cold. Roose had a point. "I… I…"

Clearing his throat, Martyn Cassel stepped forward. "Actually, my Lord. A raven arrived from Riverrun this morning bearing the seal of House Tully. I was planning to give it to you after the meeting, but now that the topic…"

Ned took the letter, with a mumbled thanks, breaking the seal with his knife. Reading the letter in front of all the men.

Roose waited patiently while Ned read the letter. His expression remained calm, while inside he was truly nervous about his plan. A silver stag to the man that fed the ravens allowed his agents to obtain the raven from Riverrun, one Roose read before anyone else did. It contained the expected condolences from Hoster Tully for the death of Brandon and concern over his daughter… along with the following:

_Your brother's death disturbs our alliance that your father so negotiated. If you wish to ratify it, then you have my blessing to marry my daughter yourself. If not, I shall not be offended, and my alliance with his Grace the Crown Prince will not waver._

A man in his employ that specialized in calligraphy duplicated the letter in all respects, except by omitting the last two sentences. Making it seem as if there was no choice in the matter. An alliance only for marriage, nothing else. Watching Ned's expression harden, and then turn into agony, Roose hid a smile. Suppressing his triumphant mood for later.

Ned let his hand drop to the side, still clutching the letter. "So that's it then? I marry Catelyn or the Riverlands will not fight with us."

"My Lord, you must marry her," Rickard Karstark urged.

"No," Howland Reed countered. "He can serve our cause more by wedding Cersei Lannister… or perhaps the remaining unwed sister of Lord Tyrell," he added quickly, knowing only the former was an option Ned could push. "Tywin Lannister provides more men than Hoster Tully could ever field…"

"But only the Riverlands can block us before we even get into position," Roose said. "Catelyn Tully will win us the war, I'm sure of it."

And so it went, the various Lords arguing between each other before Ned hushed them once more. Making his decision for good or for ill.

Ill it would have to be, at least physically for Ned as he arrived at Catelyn's private chambers. Greeting the Tully guards outside, trying desperately not to look like a wight from the weight of what he had chosen. The part of him he had to kill in the pursuit of duty. "How is she?"

One of them winced. "She's barely eaten anything."

"I was afraid of this. May I enter." Ned found Catelyn sitting by the window, staring outside motionlessly. "Lady Catelyn…"

She turned. "Ned…" Her eyes were sunken, face pale. Cheeks stained with long dried tears. She looked like a wraith. "You shouldn't be here."

"I will not dishonor you…"

"It's not that… I'm sorry." The look in her eyes, it was as if she had endured a lifetime of combat and torture. "It is my fault… Brandon's death…"

That shocked him. "Why? What in the gods' name would you think that?" Ned had been worried she'd blame Lya, but not herself.

"I gave him my maidenhead before we were wed, therefore cursing him. It defies the will of the gods to lay before marriage." Panicking for a moment, a mumbled prayer followed. "He was branded by my weakness, and now he was forced to burn… oh gods. How he must have suffered…"

Unable to know what to do, Ned walked to Cat and hugged her. It was stiff and awkward, but she seemed to appreciate it. "It wasn't your fault."

"Yes it was…" came the murmur, but after minutes she seemed to calm down. "What did you wish of me?"

Ned gulped. "Your father betrothed us to be wed." She looked up at him in surprise. With that, Ned handed her the letter. "He gave me a choice, and I've chosen to accept it… you'll be Lady Stark after all." He waited for her to finish, the time interminable.

She gave no expression till the end. "My father truly sent this?"

"Aye, he did." Part of him hoped she would refuse, and he would have an honorable way out.

Catelyn looked to be in a trance. "'The maiden fair is bound to her father, willed to serve his commands…' I must follow his wishes," she murmured.

Ned recognized excerpts of the _Seven Pointed Star_. He didn't feel it could have gotten any more awkward and unappealing. That proved him wrong. "Are you accepting, my Lady? I shan't force you."

"'Woe to the fair maid that disobeys thy father, nor the wife that runs from thine husband,'" she continued in a daze. "'They have both committed grievous blasphemy against the Mother, as a coward in battle does upon the Warrior..'" Catelyn looked at him. "If such is my duty, it is my duty." Her voice was of a quiet resolve, not the passion and declarations of love Ned had imagined his betrothal would involve. "Brandon always spoke highly of you and you are honorable." Catelyn rose, heading for her chest. "Shall we have it on the morrow?"

"The morrow?" It just seemed so… surreal. "Sure, why not?"

_It's not like it will be any different in a week or a moon._ No matter what, she would never be Cersei, and Cersei would always have his heart.

_Lya, this is for Lya…_ But deep down Ned knew that Lya would never have asked this of him.

* * *

A winter's gale lashed the thick walls of Storm's End with a terrifying howl. Lightning crackling through the darkness and waves bashing the cliffs with an intensity that could rival the legendary storms of Durran Godsgrief. "The time has come!" Lord Robert announced, hair and beard matted to his face as he stuck his head out of the window, rain assaulting him without care. "Hear that Rhaegar! You're going to face the Fury!"

"Brother, please listen." Running a hand down his face, Stannis had an uneasy feeling in his gut. Nothing about this smelled right. "Are you sure about this course of action…"

"Of fucking course I'm sure, Stannis! You told me of what Connington negotiated, of the coming threat to the Realm!" He sideled over to the mounted warhammer upon the wall, hefting it dangerously. "Never thought it would be fucking Rhaegar that turned traitor." The Starks were supposedly part of some conspiracy, but he didn't believe it. _Lyanna was bewitched by that rapist!_ "We call the banners! We go to war against the dragonspawn!"

Ser Corlen Greenpools, the aging Master-at-Arms and a veteran of many a conflict was just as wary about this. "Brother, Dorne is undoubtedly to declare neutrality as is Tywin Lannister. Fighting against Rhaegar will put you against the Starks and the Arryns…"

"Pish," laughed Meryn Trant. Knighted by Robert himself after years as his squire, the fool's smugness irked Stannis greatly. "Why the fuck would they side with that pansy?" To Trant, anyone that didn't leave a string of bastards in dozens of women - or twelve-year old maidens just flowered in his case - wasn't a real man.

"Because he killed Rickard and Brandon Stark you little insect!" Stannis hissed back, advancing on the whelp to smack the shit out of him.

But Robert stepped in front of his brother. "Stop it, Stannis! There will be no war in my household, only upon the dragonspawn." He regretted the murder of the Starks and Jon Arryn -

gods, how he had cried after that… but the true villain was Rhaegar. "Ned and Elbert will never side with a rapist."

"My Lord, Lord Arryn has already declared war against King Aerys," Corlen remarked. "The Starks will be next."

"Our fight for Aerys can be temporary," mused Ser Cortnay Penrose. "Kill Rhaegar, then ally with the Vale and North to depose Aerys and install Viserys on the throne."

Robert smacked him on the back. "That's what I'm talking about!" He turned to the one person who hadn't spoke. "Renly! What do you think about that?!"

Quiet and distracted, it took a moment for Renly to hear what his brother said. "Um… All I know is that Stormbreaker will taste plenty of blood."

A bellowing laugh. "Oh brother, you finally say something worth listening too!"

"My lord…" Corlen said, trying one last time to end this madness before it happened. "I've fought in many wars alongside your father and grandfather... Nothing ever goes according to plan, and victory is often bathed in oceans of blood. Would corrupting yourself on the altar of Aerys Targaryen and alienating your greatest friends be worth the cost…"

"Saving my Lyanna from that rapist is always worth it!" the Lord snarled smacking Stormbreaker against the floor. "Call the banners!"

Later, in his chambers, Renly shut the door. Falling against it with a deep exhale. It had taken all of him not to speak during the meeting, all of him not to feel terror at the prospect of war. Bitter as he was, actual blood and death scared him greatly…

But it was the tiny letter in his pocket that kept his resolve. For what had to be the dozenth time, he pulled it out.

_Dearest Renly,_

_War comes, and I know I can count on House Baratheon's armies, but I must count on you as well._

_Rhaegar is at Starfall, and he will not risk his family in the coming war. They will stay there at the protection of House Dayne._

_Hear me, Renly, Lyanna Stark and Elia Martell are dangers to peace and to House Targaryen. They must be controlled by those loyal to the Realm or else their poison will destroy all we love._

_A ship of fifty thousand gold dragons will arrive in Storm's End harbor by the end of the moon. Use them to raise an army to take Starfall once the war truly commences. Ensure that the two whores are brought to me with all haste._

_I am counting on you, my sweet Stag. Once all is done, you and I can be together._

_Jon_

Holding the letter to his breast, Renly swooned of a man in love. For Jon, he would do anything.

Even the most brutal acts.

* * *

He could smell it even from here in the Tower of the Hand. No matter how many candles of scented oils or braziers packed with herbs that he burned, the stench of wildfire and burning bodies wafted up the countless stories to his nostrils. Jon Connington blanched every ten minutes, but kept up his work. If Willam Darry and Owen Merryweather were set on burning half of court upon the pyres in the courtyard to please the King, then that was alright.

Not that the people condemned to the fire were useful anyway. It kept the King occupied in his mad rants between bouts of taking the Queen in her chambers. Connington had more pressing matters that he would rather not be interfered with.

Desk more cluttered than usual, he kept a checklist close by of the great houses. Already all of the North and Vale were written off, while the Westerlands were conspicuously neutral, as was most of Dorne. The entire Reach was behind Aerys aside from a glaring X next to House Peake. _Figures._ Connington preemptively got the Stormlands as allies, while the Riverlands was a question mark.

The door thereby entered and in walked Ser Jonothor Darry of the Kingsguard and Lord Qarlton Chelsted, the new Master of War. The former was professional, if ruthless - Connington regarded the latter as craven… as well as ruthless. "You sent for us, Lord Hand?" asked Chelsted, taking a seat. Ser Jonothor said nothing, merely leaning against the wall and observing.

Connington nodded, holding up the checklist for the Crownlands. "All houses are behind us except House Celtigar. They've declared for Rhaegar."

"Send me to Claw Isle. I'll burn it to the ground."

"I already sent Lord Velaryon there… and it's deserted aside from smallfolk. Lord Adrian left with all his fighting men and is likely in Maidenpool right now."

This perked Ser Jonothor's interest. "Think they'll use Maidenpool as staging grounds." It was a major keep and close to the Vale and Kingsroad.

"Either that or Harrenhal would be obvious, or Riverrun if they were to seek something farther back." Connington trusted Hoster Tully to keep his alliance with the Starks even with Brandon dead. "Varys says that the Tullys have called their banners, so we better take both keeps to protect against the Vale and the North." It was shorter from the Eyrie to Maidenpool than it was from Highgarden to King's Landing - and Mace Tyrell wasn't known to be fast.

Ser Jonothor quirked an eyebrow. "Take the keeps? And what to do about the Lords if they resist?"

Leaning back, Connington sighed. "You, Ser Jonothor, will lead half our forces to Maidenpool. Lord Chelsted, you take the rest to Harrenhal. If they do not surrender, end their lines." He produced written orders to wit, signed by Aerys himself.

Chelstead grinned savagely. "Consider it done."

The Kingsguard was skeptical - practically so. "Thorne won't go for it." The Young Captain of the Household Guard was known for his honor as well as his loyalty.

"Don't worry about him. I sent him to the Reach to find Rhaegar." _Not that he could._

* * *

_Queen Elia_

_There is no need to worry about the loyalty of House Arryn. By the Grace of the Gods, Aerys the Mad and his vile council will suffer for the despicable murder of my uncle. No Lord that I spoke with will stand against me as I advance to join your husband's cause._

_While my uncle in a remarkable act of foresight had called the banners of the Eyrie, the delays in calling up the remaining levies of the Vale will cause several moons delay to be ready to march for the Riverlands. I regret that we cannot meet your timetable, though my impending marriage to Lysa Tully of Riverrun will ensure that our alliances will remain strong._

_Elbert Arryn_

_Lord of the Eyrie_

Groaning, Elia dropped her head to the table in frustration. In dozens of letters sent by raven, depleting the rookeries of House Dayne and many of House Blackmont, Elbert Arryn's had been the most supportive aside from the North. Yet even he wasn't rushing to give aid to Rhaegar's cause. "Fuck, fuck, fuck…"

"I didn't think Elia Martell knew how to speak profanity." Elia raised her head to see Ashara leaning in the doorway, smirking and holding a candlestick in her hand. "But from the noises out of your shared quarters, it seems the dragon and wolf have brought you out of your shell."

Reddening, Elia averted her eyes. It was like being with Ellaria… only that Ashara had some desire to hold her tongue. "Did you only come to tease me?"

A snort. "No, but it is amusing." Unbidden, the Lady of Waiting to the Queen made her way to a plush seat across from Elia. "Burning the midnight oil?"

"There is a war on, Ash. I have to do my part so that my husband can come home safely."

"And by home, you mean the home he can come in?" Catching an annoyed glare from her Queen, Ashara laughed. "I'm sorry, Ellaria used that on me when I was ten and four and I've been waiting to use it ever since."

Elia rolled her eyes. "Gods, she's all the way in Sunspear and she's still finding ways to jape with me." But yes… Elia did want Rhaegar to come in her. Every night. "So what truly brought you here?"

Ashara sighed. "Lyanna's stomach was roiling worse than it's ever been." That quickly caught Elia's attention, her expression fearful. "Qyburn settled her stomach with a calming tea and now she's sleeping. She asked for you too."

Hanging her head, Elia felt so conflicted. "Seven hells, I'm neglecting even my own family."

Reaching out, Ashara clasped Elia's hand. "You're a good wife and mother, Elia. As good as you are a Queen, and honestly…" She spread her arms at the papers scattered on the table. "You're fighting for them all the same. Once Rhaegar wins, you'll be the most powerful Queen since Rhaenyra."

"Hopefully I don't end up like her." They shared a weak grin at her quip.

About a quarter of an hour passed with the two of them reviewing the various dispatches. To their relief, even the more intractable upper Riverlands houses such as the Brackens were amenable to backing Rhaegar's cause… all conditioned on Hoster Tully's approval.

"Elia?"

"Hmmm?"

"What's it like, sleeping with a Stark?"

Almost choking on her own spit, Elia looked up with wide eyes. "Why… why would you ask me that?"

"Everyone tells me that Targaryens are like Valyrian gods in bed - I mean, Maekar Targaryen's wife was a Dayne and I've read her diaries." She shrugged. "Was curious as to if Starks were the same. They have magical blood too."

Pursing her lips, Elia slowly smiled. Thinking of her lovely Lya. "It's amazing." The things her wolf's tongue did to her… "It really is like having a wolf in bed, though I can't speak for the men of House Stark." Something clicked in her mind. "Are you pining for the House of the Direwolf?"

It was Ashara's turn to blush. "No."

"Don't lie to me. You were always a terrible liar."

She groaned. "I can't help… but look." Ashara laughed lightly. "I mean, Arthur has the white cloak and now he and Dacey are having my niece or nephew. If one kingsguard can then another kingsguard…"

_Oh Benjen, you do not know how lucky you are._ Many men propositioned the lovely Ashara Dayne, but this was the first time Elia had seen her truly smitten. _Something's there about the Starks._ One wouldn't think they were great beauties… _but they truly are irresistible and priceless._ "I have no doubt that if you fancy him, Ash, he fancies you. I know my goodbrother."

A radiant smile came her way. "Thank you." Another ten minutes of going over reports before Ashara excused herself, yawning.

She hadn't been gone a moment before there was a shadow at the door.

_"Muna."_

Elia looked up to find not Ashara, but the haphazard curls of her baby girl, two wide violet eyes looking at her. "Oh sweetling. What brings you here."

"Can't sleep," she murmured, soft enough so Elia only barely heard it.

Smiling, the Queen opened her arms. "Want to sit with _muna?"_ With the decisiveness of a dragon, Rhaenys didn't wait before she ran to Elia. Jumping into her lap. "Ooof, careful, little dragon," she chuckled.

"Sorry, _muna_." The two settled into a rather cozy arrangement. Elia going over more letters from each of the Dornish Lords - more demurrals in light of Doran's inaction - while Rhaenys buried her face against Elia's side.

It stopped when Elia heard soft sobbing. "Sweetling… what's wrong." She dropped all she was doing and hugged her daughter, kissing the crown of her head.

Rhaenys stopped sobbing, but her eyes were red and tortured. "I miss kepa."

Her soft words broke Elia's heart. "I miss him too, my darling daughter." Her eyes were exactly like Rhaegar's, it made Elia both smile and tear up. "Your father is the greatest man I've ever known. I love him very much."

That seemed to make Rhaenys a little happier. "_Muna_… I… I think, you and _kepa_… no very close before_ muna_ came."

A sigh. Children were more astute than one thought, and Rhaenys was particularly smart. "He and I… we had bad people that gave us a lot of pain. We were wrong to, but it kept us distant." Lyanna not only gave her love, she gave Elia her husband back and for that Elia could never begin to repay her.

Knotting her brows, her violet eyes looked almost… hardened. "Because of grandfather?" The latter was said as if the child was speaking of a demon.

And Rhaenys saw first hand what Aerys was capable of. "Yes, sweetling. Because of grandfather." She wouldn't lie to her daughter.

"I want him burn." There was no levity in Rhaenys' voice. Just certainty in what she wanted. "_Kepa_ burn him like Maegor."

Exhaling, Elia merely hugged her closer. _So do I, sweetling. So do I._

* * *

"I'd advise that you not look like you are watching Winterfell burn, Ned."

Ned frowned hard - apparently the cordial mask he thought he wore well simply wasn't… or Howland was extremely observant. "I'll be fine, Howland. Catelyn is a wonderful girl." Objectively true… if the man waiting by the Weirwood - or Septon rather - had been named Arryn, Tyrell, or even Manderly. But for a Stark of the North… Howland raised his eyebrow, but said nothing. "Something on your mind, Howland?"

The Crannogman shifted his feet. "It's not too late, you know." They spoke in whispers. "You can still back down. Go with your brother's plan to betroth her to Elbert."

Closing his eyes, the Lord of Winterfell - it still felt like bile thinking of himself in his father's boots, far before his time - shook his head. "No. I have my duty." He couldn't lie in front of the Heart Tree. "The North is counting on me. Lya and Rhaegar count on me. My father and brother's memories count on me."

"House Lannister is a far stronger alliance than House Tully." He had agreed to preside over the ceremony, but that didn't mean he agreed with Roose Bolton's reasoning. The Lord simply looked… smug at the front of the guests.

"It isn't the alliance we need at this moment, Howland. We need the Tullys, Rhaegar needs the Tullys." _I am the Lord of Winterfell now. For my people… sacrifices must be made._ "What sort of Lord would be if I sully my honor by choosing myself over them?" His friend said nothing. What else could be said?

Ned watched the torch-lined path through the godswood. There walked his bride, Catelyn Tully, escorted by the lead of her guards. She wore a long, white gown of Myrish lace and the finest wool of the Riverlands. About her shoulders was draped the blue and red cloak of her House. He hitched his breath, imagining she Cersei for a moment… Don't torture yourself.

Coming to a stop just before him, Catelyn shivered as Ned gently pulled back her veil - eyes fluttering shut. A sheen of silk that the bride insisted upon, not that he truly minded or cared. Her skin was paler than usual, the cold air and snowfall accentuating the red of her hair. Kissed by fire as was said in the North, a good omen for those born with it. And yet, her eyes remained closed.

"Cat," he murmured softly. "It's alright." Slowly her eyes opened, revealing the glistening cerulean pools. A slight redness remained from recent tears, but there was no denying that Catelyn Tully was beautiful. No doubt one of the most beautiful maidens of the Realm.

But not the most. _Forgive me, Cersei._ Feeling Catelyn's freezing hand take his own, Ned accepted his fate. Turning so that both of them faced the Heart Tree.

Howland cleared his throat. "Who comes before the Old Gods this night?"

Behind, the head of the Tully guard cleared his throat. "Catelyn, of House Tully, comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the gods." Ned felt her squeeze his hand tighter. Not out of affection, but of fear - Ned could tell. "Who comes to claim her?"

_Gods be with me._ "Eddard, of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North."

Howland's eyes conveyed a flicker of sympathy to Ned before looking directly at his bride. "Lady Catelyn, do you take this man?"

Catelyn seemed to steady herself. "I… I take this man."

Normally, this would be the end of it… but on Ned's orders a little tradition of the Faith of the Seven was added to the wedding - hoping to ease Catelyn's tension. "You may now…" Howland looked uncomfortable but nevertheless continued. "Cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

Ned drew back, removing her blue cloak. He folded it carefully but quickly - noticing her shivers. Ser Rodrik came forward with the grey Stark cloak, to which Ned slipped it upon Catelyn's shoulders - taking her under the protection of the direwolf. A tiny glint in her eyes belied her gratefulness at the thoughtful gesture.

_It's a start._

Now clad in the cloak of House Stark, Ned lightly held her chin and brought his new bride for their first kiss. It was cold, her eyes scrunched shut as if picturing someone different.

_Not as good a start as I hoped…_

The feast was quite boisterous, a paradox to the somber reality they were faced with… but truly not. Whole-roasted meats, crusty black bread, and gallons of ale disappeared down the gullets of the revelling Lords, soldiers, and smallfolk alike. Not of their new Lord though liking him greatly, nor of their new Lady of whom they had a far lesser regard, but rather for one last chance to be merry before war clouded everything.

Ned could not fault them for this, even as he eschewed the merriment himself.

Beside him at the Lord's table - seated side by side in the places once reserved by his father and mother - Catelyn was equally sluggish. Barely picking at the morsel of roast boar in front of her. Aside from a single dance, his bride hadn't moved. She shifted from momentary glances of distaste at the drunken arm wrestling contests Greatjon Umber engaged with whomever fool was deep enough in his cups to challenge him to a sullen stare that his whatever she was feeling.

"Are you alright, my Lady?" Bidden to answer, Catelyn offered him a small smile. Genuinely glad at the company of someone she knew to be honorable, but… _I'm not Brandon._ A curse he would always live with, Catelyn or not. _He and father deserved to be here._

"A toast!" Roose Bolton called out, his milky eyes twinkling. "To Lord and Lady Stark!" He hoisted his cup high in spite of likely being the only one other than Ned and Cat not to be drunk. Ned regarded him with deem suspicion, while Catelyn seemed happy at the gesture

Rickard Karstark was nowhere near sober though. "Aye! To Ned and Catelyn, may their union bring us victory!" Ale sloshed on the floor as he swayed unsteadily.

"Long live House Stark!"

"Death to the Mad Dragon!"

"The North Remembers!" Hollered toasts boomed within the great hall till it collapse right back into mindless frivolity. Many a bastard would be born that night, most willing from how frisky the maids were with whatever man drew their fancy.

"They mean well," Ned told Catelyn, chuckling.

The tight smile returned, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Forgive me, Lord Stark, but I must retire."

He blinked. "You've barely eaten."

"I ate before the ceremony." Catelyn silently pleaded with him. "Please, Lord Stark. I need a moment to regain my bearings." They had already discussed doing away with the bedding ceremony - given what happened to Brandon and Catelyn's feelings on the matter, being groped by a dozen drunken lords wasn't the best to reassure her.

Sighing, Ned nodded. "You may, my dear. It is not an unwise request." Squeezing his hand with a grateful relief, Catelyn stood. The hall too drunk and preoccupied with a brawl between Greatjon and Ethan Glover to notice her leave. Ned watched as Septa Mordane stood from the end of the Lord's table, following Catelyn with a frown on her face. Her, he was confident enough to admit he did not trust.

Alone at the table, the last true Stark at Winterfell, Ned waited for what seemed interminable. Emptying a tankard of ale with Catelyn's helping of boar and potatoes, it made him numb and warm rather than the tipsy insanity before him. Best to calm as he finally stood

"The conquering hero!" Theo Wull bellowed, drawing laughs and jeers. "Driving his spear into the depths of the Riverlands!" He made an obscene gesture with his hips, which the drunk Lords found hysterical. Ned merely sent back an equally obscene gesture, which was an even bigger hit. Honorable though he was, these were Ned's people and he knew just how to deal with them.

Upon entering his bedchambers, Ned noticed the candles faintly glowing upon the tables and dressers, casting flickering shadows upon the walls. Hushed voices filled the room. Ned quickly traced them to the Septa and his new bride, the former knelt as she clasped Catelyn's hands. The two of them praying in whispers. He wouldn't begrudge Catelyn this, but the presence of Septa Mordane suddenly angered him. Provoking his inner wolf.

Having cleared his throat loudly, the Septa glared but nevertheless stood. "My Lord…"

"Get out," Ned hissed.

"We haven't finished our prayers…"

"I gave you an order," he replied firmly. "I wish to be alone with my bride so I suggest you follow it." The Septa roiled in anger, but propriety won out. Curtseying, she left the bride and groom to themselves.

Catelyn had ditched her cumbersome wedding dress, instead clad in nothing but a woollen nightgown. Dressed-down, but rather modest compared to the outfit Cersei had worn during their first coupling - namely nothing at all. "Must you have done that?" she asked him softly, eyes wide.

He nodded. "A man deserves to be alone with his bride on their wedding night. I would have dismissed anyone." _But most of all, her._ Unfortunately, the Septa's influence wasn't gone as in Catelyn's lap rested the _Seven Pointed Star._

Her eyes shifted down to the holy book. "'The Maid brought him forth a girl as supple as a willow,'" Catelyn read from one of the more famous passages. "'...the Mother made her fertile… and the Crone foretold that she would bear the king four-and-forty mighty sons…' I hope to be even an eighth as fertile, my Lord." If not her Brandon's seed, then his blood.

Ned's cock went limp even with the presence of such undressed beauty. "Here," he said, pouring two cups of Arbor Gold. "To our marriage." _Perhaps some wine will loosen us up._

Setting aside the holy book with great care, Catelyn gladly accepted the cup. Sighing as she drank - hoping it would calm her. "The finest vintage… much better than bitter ale." Ned's grip on his goblet grew tight. "Thank you… husband." They drank in further silence.

"You are not a maid," he said abruptly, wishing to just get it out of the way. She stiffened "I have no issue with it, if that's what worries you."

Cat shook her head. "No…" Suddenly tears formed. "Thank the gods we waited… they will bring blessings upon us, not curses."

It took everything in Ned not to roll his eyes. He knew not to criticize someone's piety, but Ned did truly want to. _Enough of this._ He brusquely pounded his cup on the table, startling her. "Let's get this over with."

Without delay, Ned crossed their gap and pulled her into an embrace. It took Catelyn off guard when he kissed her, his tongue rough as he plundered her. Pushing her onto the bed. Hiking up her nightgown touching her all over. It felt nothing like Brandon… pleasing enough, but without the love and tenderness… _No, that was a curse… your duty is here. You must serve your husband, bear his sons…_

His annoyance began to dissipate, eyes opening as Ned looked over his bride. She truly was beautiful - perhaps he'd best make the best of this. "Relax, my Lady," he said in a softer tone, fingers brushing over her skin. Flicking her nipples, stroking her sides, playing with her nub. She mewled, but her eyes were shut tight. Thinking of something… or someone. Sighing, Ned lined himself up. Breaching her entrance without fuss.

She squealed. It was abrupt… it hurt a bit, nothing like Bran's loving touches. His supple caresses that brought nothing but pleasure to her system. Only rough, uncaring, lustful, sinful… no, he was her husband. Ordained under the sight of the gods to be her master and her lover - she had sinned with Brandon, and his death was the punishment. Ned was her duty now... His kiss felt invasive, but Catelyn let him have her. The gods demanded she submit.

His wife was tight. Nowhere near fully soaked, but the pressure melding around his cock. This was her… not the one he wanted… not the one he loved. _Cersei… Cersei…_ Her image popped into his mind. Moaning, legs wrapped around his hips as he split her open. How her eyes twinkled mischievously as she begged him to take her on all fours. _Cersei…_ Without delay he spilled inside the woman beneath him. Not Cersei.

Guilt and hopeless longing filling him, Ned rolled off her unceremoniously. This was not how he had hoped his wedding night would be, holding his golden wife close as they lost themselves in countless pleasure… instead faced with his brother's sweetheart, both Bran and their father dead and himself one night away from marching to war.

"I will pray to the Mother that your seed takes root," he heard his wife say. _My wife…_ "That I will bear you a son and heir, a great and noble Lord like Brandon… or yourself."

Her words… speaking of his brother after their coupling, Ned simply couldn't stand it. "Goodnight, wife," he muttered, turning his back to her.

He had fallen asleep before she could even respond, golden hair and emerald eyes haunting his dreams.

* * *

It had been over a week of constant galloping. Sleeping for a mere three hours a night or on the saddle as they raced through the Prince's Pass and into the Reach. Their horses were tiring, but Rhaegar had no choice in the matter. They needed to get to Riverrun by the next moon or else he could likely kiss his claim goodbye.

The hours and hours of traveling gave the King-claimant plenty of time to think. Of his mother, of his father, of his children and beloved brides. Often going half a day without saying a word - silently brooding. Sometimes the Kingsguards would try to speak to him. Sometimes Melisandre, the only woman among their complement. But they didn't get many words out of him.

_This is your fault, their deaths are your fault._ One voice constantly berated him, castigating him, sending his soul into the abyss. It was seductive yet dark. Enticing yet malevolent.

_You can't blame yourself. You are the solution, dear dragon._ Another voice would spur him on, soft and gentle - almost motherly. _Fight for them, Rhaegar. Fight for your loves and children…_

"Column ahead!" Ser Myles announced, their pointman. Rhaegar eased Moondancer, who neighed but otherwise complied. "Looks like pikemen and riders… a lot of pikemen."

Narrowing his eyes, Rhaegar shaded them to peer at the onrushing soldiers - marching along the road ahead of them. "Doesn't look like they're after us…" He motioned for his squire. "Do you recognize the column?" Rhaegar asked Garlan, who he kept close to him as they travelled through his ancestral lands.

Peering out, the young squire nodded. "Aye, House Fossoway of New Barrell - the personal sigil of Ser Jon, the intended to my Aunt Janna." He let out a breath in relief. "He's a kind man, we don't need to worry." The dashing knight he remembered was a jovial fellow always quick to jape. Charmed all the women in the family apart from his grandmother… no one charmed her.

Gerold frowned. "It's not worth it."

"I'm not lying, Ser Gerold," Garlan huffed.

"Not saying you are, but it's not you I don't trust." The Reach knight's eyes shifted to the far-off column. "House Fossoway was always grasping for more influence." He had seen it in his brother's court. "I could see them trying to take advantage of the bounty on your head for royal favor."

Nodding, Rhaegar nevertheless pulled his cowl tighter about his face. "We'll go beside them on the road. Slowly and nonthreateningly… I'm not taking any chances." Pulling his cowl over his silver locks, Rhaegar turned to Melisandre. "Any glimpse into our near future from your Lord?" She had been very close to the campfire the night past.

She looked at him, gaze unchanging. "Just that you shall find your destiny here." Cryptic as ever, Rhaegar shrugged his shoulders and urged his horse forward.

They grew closer to the column, almost a hundred pikemen of House Tyrell. Made sense that the Tyrells would allow the future intended for the Lord's sister to command their men, but Rhaegar would have vastly preferred one of the Tyrells themselves. "Off the road," said Ser Gerold, all of them pulling their cowls down further. Eventually passing by the marching pikemen. None of whom did anything.

It was halfway through the column when a voice rang out. "Halt!" Rhaegar thought for a split second to book it, but they were nowhere near a safe means to do so. "I'm Ser Jon Fossoway, sworn sword to Lord Mace Tyrell. Who are you?"

Rhaegar disguised his voice. "Just a group of hedge knights passing through."

"I'll bet…" came the sarcastic reply. Pushing up his visor, Fossoway regarded them suspiciously. "Wait, you look familiar," he said. Eyes focused on Rhaegar… suddenly widening. "You're Rhaegar Targaryen."

For his part, Rhaegar scoffed. Voice morphing into a sarcastic chuckle. "Yeah, that's why I'm wearin' dis fancy outfit." He motioned to his threadbare cloak of homespun wool - clearly not one any self-respecting highborn would ever wear. Had someone like Mace Tyrell found it even close to his clothes he'd have the whole lot burned.

While some among the Reach column laughed, Fossoway didn't seem to buy the bluff. "Perhaps." He urged his mount - a large Crakehall stallion - to pass in front of them. Circling the group with hard eyes. "Your horses are all purebred, but any good group of hedge knights would live on bread and water in exchange for a good horse."

Ser Oswell kept his eyes trained on the green apple knight, hard and narrowed. He hadn't been a Kingsguard far as long as Barristan or Gerold - the one Fossoway was least likely to recognize. "You have no authority to detain us on Tyrell land," he ground out.

"No, but I am, nonetheless." Fossoway pulled on the reigns, halting his mount. "That's a mighty fine sword you have," he said, slow grin spreading on his face as he spotted the hilt of Blackfyre poking out of Rhaegar's cloak. "Twin dragon hilt, ruby pommel… almost like Blackfyre." He drew his own blade, pointing it at Rhaegar. "Take off your cowl."

Rhaegar remained calm. "Fuck off and let us pass."

Fossoway frowned. "Take it off or I'll do it for you."

"You can try, but it would be very painful..."

"I doubt it."

"For you," Rhaegar finished, adding to the tension.

And yet, it was Garlan who threw the dice. "Ser Jon, as the second son of Lord Mace Tyrell of Highgarden, I order you to stand down."

Wanting to groan, Rhaegar noticed the pikemen begin to chatter amongst themselves - hold growing looser on their weapons. _Perhaps he has something on this after all…_

If he was surprised, Fossoway didn't show it. "Ah, my soon to be nephew." He didn't sheath his sword, but did rest it against his shoulder. "Considering you are the squire to Crown Prince Rhaegar - though said title is now suspect - I presume I was correct about this one here."

Rhaegar rolled his eyes. "Alright, the mummer's show is over." He revealed himself, as did the Kingsguards and sworn swords. "And the title is not Crown Prince, Ser Jon."

"Hmmm, planning to surrender to your father? Too bad for this to end so weakly…"

"He is your rightful King, Fossoway," Ser Gerold barked, removing his cloak so that his Kingsguard armor was revealed in its glory. "You are to address him as such."

A laugh left the knight. "His ass hasn't sat on the Iron Throne, nor does he have the capitol… or an army that I can see." Fossoway looked over Rhaegar with a greedy glint. "But his Grace, Aerys II would love to get his hands on you… and reward anyone who does it." He motioned to his men. "Take their swords and escort our… guests."

"Do not resist," Rhaegar ordered. Now was not the time - they would be slaughtered if he resisted.

Garlan bristled though. "I demand to see my father and grandmother!"

"Shut up," Fossoway ordered.

"No, your right to pit and gallows does not extend to Tyrell lands. Only my father can issue that order." He knew his stuff.

Ser Jon didn't look happy at that, but he was boxed in. "Your father is in King's Landing and your grandmother is out of the keep… your mother will have to make the final decision then." He jerked his hand to the west. "Let's go."

"You're making a big mistake, Jon of House Fossoway," the Lady Melisandre said matter of factly. The only one among them who didn't hide her face.

"And just who might you be?"

She smiled. "The one who will warn you. The night is dark and full of terrors - be wary to actually wade into it where you can't see the enemy coming to knife you in the back."

He laughed again. "You doth scare me shitless," he smirked, rolling his eyes. "Now shut up and get moving."

Wanting to kill the man that took Blackfyre from him, Rhaegar hid his rage behind a mask. _Looks like my life will be in the hands of Lady Alerie Tyrell._ He's have to be on his best behavior…

Or his most ruthless...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor, poor Ned. Tricked out of marrying his love into an unhappy union. It's not going to be easy to him.
> 
> Elia is coming into her own as a Queen, and Rhaenys is growing into a little dragon.
> 
> Next time, Rhaegar faces the court of House Tyrell.


	45. Trial By Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Hurricane Laura is headed right for where I am, so I could use everyone's moral support. Luckily, I'm on high ground and away from any flood risk. Wish me luck, guys.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

Grimacing, Lyanna's stomach roiled once more. What meagre lunch she ate spewed out into the chamber pot, throat burning from the acidic taste. "Jon hates me…"

"He doesn't hate you, Lya," comforted Elia, holding Lyanna's hair back. "I think he's just upset cause his _kepa_'s gone."

"Don't remind me," Lyanna groaned. It didn't help that Elia's gestures were all the little things that Rhaegar usually did. She loved Elia dearly for doing them, but it was a reminder of their husband's absence. "I think…" A soft but heavy belch left her stomach. "Fuck… I think I'm done."

Belly far larger, Dacey nevertheless took the soiled chamber pot to dump out the window. "She's right, Lyanna." Her Lady in Waiting rubbed her swelling stomach, wincing slightly as she walked on swollen feet. "The first weeks, I was shattered. Unable to keep even a slice of bread down… when Arthur and I reconciled, much better."

Lyanna rested against Elia's shoulder. "Just my luck that I won't be able to count on Rhaegar to come back, then." Wordlessly, Elia held her tighter. _What would I do without her?_

"He'll come back… or more accurately you'll go to him when he captures King's Landing," Ashara noted, the most confident out of all of them. Not once did her purple eyes show any doubt that Rhaegar would win the coming war. "My father wouldn't have pledged his banners with him otherwise."

"I hope so, Ash… I hope so…"

The four ladies shifted their eyes to the door when Benjen entered. His grey eyes unavoidably raking Ashara up and down - not that she discouraged him, tilting her body in just the right way. Benjen cleared his throat. "Lord Dayne requests your presence in his solar. A raven from the capitol." Eyebrows rose. "And… Winterfell."

Ten minutes later, all five had arrived in the solar. Lord Althos resting in his plush chair while Arthur stood behind the seat that he insisted Dacey sit upon. The three other women refused seats - even Lyanna. As a Queen, she would be strong. "Your Grace," Lord Althos said to Elia, handing Lord Varys' dispatch to the Dornish Queen.

Her brows knit together at the words. "Lord Adrian Celtigar's brother was burned alive," she hissed. "Treason… after Adrian declared for Rhaegar. Willam Darry's orders."

"I thought he was only appointed Master-at-Arms to irk Tywin?" Ashara asked.

"That position is one where power tempts you," Arthur said to his sister. "Quentyn Ball fell to hubris and greed… and so too does Darry it seems." There was no wonder why House Darry was one of few in the Riverlands to back Aerys openly.

"Continue, Elia," Lyanna said, voice affectionate. Making Elia smile inwardly… only to frown. "What?"

Her eyes went back to the letter. "The King is surrounding himself with new blood of knights, trying to craft a new Kingsguard or loyal sworn swords. Quality varies between Silveraxe Fell and Boros Blount, only favored because he faced Queen Lyanna in the tourney." She rolled her eyes at that. _Boros the Belly._ Gods save the Realm from fools like him. At the next tidbit her blood boiled. "Robert's called his banners for Aerys."

If Elia was enraged, Lyanna looked ready to murder someone. "I should have slit his throat when he advanced on me at the tourney." Lips pressing tightly, it was only when Elia squeezed her hand did she calm down. "It will take a while for the Stormlands to muster. By then Ned and Lord Elbert will fully muster." Varys' letter - instinct told both Queens not to trust him, but the information didn't seem deceptive - contained more information, but it was a bit inane. Minior gossip to be addressed later. Ned's letter arrived now. Trembling, Lyanna broke the seal and tried to open it… but she couldn't. "Ben… please…"

He gladly did the honors for Lyanna. By the end he let out a deep sigh. "Oh, brother. You poor, great bastard."

"What?" Ashara asked before either of the Queens.

"Ned's married… to Catelyn Tully."

Returned to their chambers after the quiet dinner in the main hall, the two beauties immediately embraced. Holding each other close as they let the masks and tensions of their duty release from their bodies and souls. Ladies no more, Princesses no more, Elia and Lyanna were both Queens now as Rhaegar was King-claimant. Duties different, what they did mattered far more now, and weighed on them greatly.

"Oh, Elia," murmured Lyanna, squeezing her slender waist once more before breaking the embrace. Walking to the closet and removing a dark red robe. One of Rhaegar's dressing gowns. It still smelled like him, to which Lyanna accepted with relish.

A hand fell on her shoulder. "Come here," Elia said softly, guiding her sister-wife to the commode - not after taking a whiff herself of Rhaegar's spicy scent. Bringing her closer to Lyanna as she sat in front of her. Hands moving to ease the braids out of her chestnut hair. "This alright?"

"Please do." With Ashara also having duties in the keep and Dacey assisting, being accepted into the house of her paramour, Lyanna and Elia were often forced to attend to each other. Not that it bothered them - they both loved it. "I worry for our godmother."

"Stuck in that hellscape where Boros the Belly and Rossart have actual clout with Aerys? I'd be suspicious of anyone not worried for her." She reached for a brush and comb, trying to decide where she should start. "But I can't help but feel that Varys isn't telling us the whole truth."

Lyanna looked back at her through the looking glass. "Why do you think that?"

Elia sighed. "Growing up in Sunspear, we have a special relationship with the Free Cities in a closer-shared culture than with the… North for example." She heard Lyanna chuckle at that - Elia could blend in on the streets of Volantis or Tyrosh, but she'd stand out like a sore thumb in Winterfell. "Varys was raised by Lysene mummers… and I can see little traits of his that show an insincerity where others are fooled."

Eyes cast downward, Lyanna's face fell. "Gods, I wasn't at all prepared to be Rhaegar's Princess."

A cross look came from Elia. "Please, I wasn't prepared when I arrived in King's Landing. With Rhaegar at my side, I learned quickly and you are as well."

Meeting Elia's gaze through the looking glass, Lya smiled softly. "Aye, it does feel like we can take on the whole world when we're with Rhaegar."

"You miss him."

Sighing at the feel of the Dornishwoman's hands starting to work through her locks, Lyanna nodded. "Our bed feels empty without him."

"Do I not warm our bed, my love?" Elia giggled at her cross glare through the looking glass. "I miss him too. It isn't the same without him." Lyanna's locks tumbled about Lyanna's creamy shoulders - bare in her sleeveless Dornish dress. Elia felt a fire in her loins whenever she wore them. "In the beginning I'd oft wake up homesick. Wishing to be in my bed in the Water Gardens."

Lyanna hummed as Elia began to brush her hair. Enjoying it greatly. "I felt the same… when I thought I'd be married to Robert. After… Rhaegar simply made me happy enough to forget I was away from home." Such was her love for her dragon - a mix of him and her now growing in her womb.

Smiling, Elia kept brushing. "Eventually I realized Rhaegar was my home. As long as I was with him… I would never feel alone or unloved." _It is the same with you, my wolf._ Looking back at her, Elia was surprised to see her beloved tearing up. "Lya… why are there tears?"

She reached up to wipe her eyes. "I'm sorry. I love Jon, but he's putting my emotions into a gale." Taking a deep breath, Lyanna met Elia's gaze. "Just look at how lucky we are, even in the midst of this shit. How we have a man that adores us." It wasn't hard to notice - how Rhaegar always kept a hand on the both of them. How his eyes would watch them with love and hunger. "My brother will never know that."

Oh… "Ned and Catelyn," Elia breathed, receiving a confirming nod from her love. "Lady Tul… I mean Lady Stark now, she loved Brandon."

"Like Florian and Jonquil, and now Ned will be forced to live with a wife that always holds a torch for a man dead." Thinking about Bran dead made it worse. "I know why he did it, but my heart breaks for him to not know what we have."

"My goodbrother is predictable. Always choosing duty over self." Her own brother was the opposite, but circumstance always lined up for Oberyn. "But what I lament for Ned… his alliance with House Tully is the proper political move in the moment, but when Rhaegar wins it becomes… useless."

Lyanna wanted to weep for her brother… for all they lost and what they would endure, but she was tired of the tears. Tired of being weak. _I just want peace…_ With Rhaegar gone and the children asleep, there was only one she could turn to for that - someone she found herself turning to more regardless of the situation. "Elia?" she murmured.

Setting down the brush, Elia almost didn't hear her sister-wife. "Yes, Lya?"

Moons ago, she would never have thought she could feel this way, but in the face of reality Lyanna couldn't resist that the winds of fate drew her towards. "I miss him dearly, but…" She bit her lip. "You are my home too."

Eyes blinking, for a moment Elia wasn't sure she heard right. Lyanna hadn't yet come out to say such words of love openly to her… until now. "Do you mean that?"

Gulping, Lyanna nodded. Rising from her chair and wrapping her arms around the other woman's waist. "Don't ask me to explain it, Elia. But when I was grieving for Ned not having what I had… I was referring to both you and Rhaegar."

Her heart was pounding out of her chest. "So… does that mean you want Ned to have two wives?" The quip was unavoidable… perhaps her husband or Ellaria had rubbed off on her.

"If he wants," Lyanna giggled. Cupping Elia's cheek, she simply gazed in her eyes. _Rhaegar was right…_ _we truly are favorites of fate._ Without another word, she crossed the distance and took the Dornishwoman's lips in a sweet kiss.

Taking her breath away, the kiss ended for but a second - her honey-brown eyes meeting Lya's greys - before Elia resumed it. Deeper, but languid. Tongues caressing slowly, pouring every bit of love and comfort into it. Rhaegar could not be here, but at least they had each other until he returned to light their lives again. We are luckier than most…

Nimble hands tugged at the ties to their dresses, Dornish gowns falling to the floor rather quickly - Lyanna marveling at the ease, knowing now why Rhaegar adored them as she ran her hands along Elia's body. Feeling a desire for the slender curves and soft flesh that seemed almost like her first time again. Their first night together, only now without Rhaegar's taut muscles to ground her. With the Dornishwoman sucking on her tongue, Lyanna's lust-filled mind didn't care. Her sopping core hot with desire.

"You are so beautiful," Elia husked, leaning down to take a nipple in her mouth. Licks turning ravenous as she devoured two things she loved very much.

"So are you," moaned the northern Queen, pushing out her chest. Grabbing her hair to keep the tingling pleasure even as they fell on the bed.

They were stretched out on the soft sheets, skin to skin. Elia hovering in between Lyanna's legs. "Lya…" Her gaze raked over her sister-wife, captivated by her beauty.

Lyanna felt herself blush under Elia's gaze. No less intense than Rhaegar's, and it lit a fire inside her. "Please… just… please…" _Make me forget, Elia._

Her own legs quivered, cunt hot and begging for relief… especially after hearing the need in Lyanna's voice. "With me, Lya."

"I've never done that before," the she-wolf murmured softly, hands ghosting down the bronzed skin of her back.

"Me neither." She kissed her wolf with love. "But I'm willing to try if you are." But Lyanna surprised her, eyes darkening with lust and fingers suddenly searching. Find wet heat as two slipped easily inside. "Oh gods…"

Lyanna watched her with awe. "Good?"

Elia felt the pleasure rippling through her body. "The best…" She savagely kissed her sister-wife, quickly reciprocating the marvelous touches. Feeling Lyanna moan into her mouth as she speared through the northerner's channel.

They were inexperienced in this, but made up for it in a desperate enthusiasm. Quick to find the bounds of their desire. A wince slowed things down, but when Elia screamed into Lyanna's mouth when she added a third finger while her thumb brushed against the little nub both of them copied it. With wonderful results.

"Oh gods…" Lyanna threw her head back, immediately assaulted by Elia's lips on her neck. "Gah… don't… stop…" A slight curling movement made her see stars. "Do that again."

In her lust-addled mind, Elia almost didn't hear her. "This?" Curling her fingers again, she was rewarded with another scream, followed by her own when Lyanna did it too. Driving them to the same pleasure that Rhaegar did. Different from him but no less wonderful. "Lya… Lya… oooooh…"

Lyanna gasped as she climaxed, feeling a rush of wetness against her fingers from Elia shattering above."Yesss…" It could have been only five minutes, or three hours - their passion dazed them. Almost making them forget the pain of their reality.

Their breathing evening out, both women shimmied into a more comfortable position. Lyanna turned on her side, smiling at an arm wrapping around her waist. With a tiny grin she wriggled her ass into the Dornishwoman's front. A position that she loved doing with Rhaegar… and while different it felt no less delicious and comforting.

Peppering Lyanna's neck and shoulder with tiny kisses, Elia heard a sweet sigh when her hand settled on her sister-wife's stomach. Gingerly cupping the small swell of their child. "We'll be alright, my love," she murmured lovingly. This was something Elia wouldn't give up for the world, only wishing Rhaegar was here. Their handsome dragon, it wasn't the same without him "He will return to us," she said, firmer. Fighting for Lya to believe it… to believe it herself.

Close to the sweet shroud of slumber, Lyanna smiled at the words nonetheless. "Love you, Elia…" They barely passed her lips before she fell asleep.

Elia's eyes widened, beaming against Lya's skin. Even in these hells, joy could be found. Kissing a bare shoulder and stroking the swell "Love you too."

* * *

The halls of Highgarden echoed with the scuffing of boots on the white marble, the noble inhabitants of House Tyrell's argument plain for the ears of eavesdropping servants. "Mother, you can't let this happen…"

"Watch it, Gar, before you bruise the ego of your precious Prince Rhaegar." Janna Tyrell was never this biting, normally a sweet young woman - a late birth by Lady Olenna. Garlan figured it was a mood picked up to please her intended. "He will be judged by…"

"Shut it, Aunt Janna," he shouted back.

Already with much on her mind, Alerie Tyrell turned, glaring at her son. "You will not speak to your elders that way, young man." Her tearful embrace upon his return belied the former Hightower's normally sunny nature, but the tall, blonde Lady of Highgarden could be fierce if she wanted to be.

What tension formed was dissipated when a little bundle of brown curls ran right into Garlan. "Brother, brother," chirped the three nameday Loras. "Come see the horse granmomma gave to me. A little foal, all mine." The fair features of what promised to be a handsome knight, Loras and their youngest sibling Margaery were often thought to be the roses of House Tyrell.

Garlan kept his patience. "A little later, brother, I promise." Making sure his nursemaid collected him, Garlan ran back after his mother and aunt. "Rhaegar is the rightful King. You must let him go."

"You're lucky he's getting a trial, son," Alerie shot back, not liking it any more than he did. "Your father and brother are marching the banners to King's Landing and I pretty much should send Rhaegar to him." Ignoring Janna's scoff at even making Ser Fossoway prove his case, Alerie smiled at her middle son. "Perhaps he'll say something to sway us."

He ran a hand through his curly mop. That was the best he'd ever get._ Damn father for siding with that monster._

The great hall of Highgarden, built by one of the Gardener Kings five centuries ago could hold three thousand people, but packed inside were only about two hundred. Mostly nobles or landed knights eager to catch a glimpse of the Silver Prince. Rewarded by not only him, but the famous kingsguards as well. Had they not been in chains, many a knight would have pressed forward to shake the hand of the great Barristan Selmy or Gerold Hightower.

But the frown on their Lady's lips proved this was no welcoming feast, but a somber occasion. She sat down, poised as any lady of the Reach. "Ser Jon Fossoway, you come to the court of my husband with a prisoner… seeking our right of pit and gallows."

Knowing procedure, Fossoway merely nodded. "Aye, but not so far, my Lady. This… man, is wanted in King's Landing for treason. I ask the Lady's permission to carry out the King's decree and bring him to the capitol for his true trial."

"Burn him!" yelled someone in the crowd.

"Burn the green apple," shouted another. "Long may King Rhaegar reign!"

"Quiet!" yelled Lady Alerie, several guards smacking their speartips on the floor to drown out the noise. "Prince Rhaegar, do you have anything to say?"

Eyes dark, the King-claimant slowly raised his head. "Truly? All I'm guilty of trying to save the Realm from my mad father." There were gasps of shock. No one talked of King Aerys in that manner… at least in public.

Alerie agreed with Rhaegar, but merely watched him. "You speak bluntly, my Prince."

Rhaegar shrugged. "At this point, I don't give a fuck." He wasn't going to lie to himself anymore, not concerning his father. "Release me at once and I won't remember this slight against the rightful King."

"You make no demands against the Lady of Highgarden, traitor," Fossoway snarled back.

"Or what?" Rhaegar regarded him as the insect as he was. "Are you going to mount your tourney horses to enforce this against actual warriors, Ser?" There were chuckles as Fossoway reddened. "Don't bother. My ancestors were dragonlords of Valyria while yours were scooping up shit in your broken down keep." By now most of the Reach highborns were snickering at Fossoway being the butt of the joke.

"Do not speak of my intended that way!" yelled Janna Tyrell.

"I'm sorry, but you're intended is a dolt. You have that in common with your goodsister… oh, forgive me, my Lady." He bowed. "I did not mean to insult the Lord of Highgarden."

He was obviously not sorry, but Alerie almost wanted to giggle herself. "No, tell me what you were saying about my husband."

Before Rhaegar could respond, Ser Gerold stepped forward. "I am a son of the Reach and uncle to Lady Tyrell, so I have every right to say that her husband is a walking humiliation and dolt that is lucky being the Lord of Highgarden consists of only holding tourneys and sending wheat to Oldtown for maritime trade - and that if he had to manage any of those himself then the Reach would fall into chaos within a moon." He smirked. "Been waiting a long time to say that."

"My Lady," advised the septon of Highgarden. "This is most unusual. The Prince should be sent to your home to stand trial in the Starry Sept for polygamy…"

"That's against the laws of Jaehaerys I and you know it," replied Lomys, the maester of the keep. "He must stand trial here."

"He's not standing trial here," growled Fossoway. "He deserves the King's justice!" And me the King's reward.

Eyes narrowing, Rhaegar wasn't about to let some landed knight with delusions of grandeur destroy him. Leave his beloved Elia and Lyanna alone without protection for themselves or the children._ Fight for them, Rhaegar. Fight…_ "Enough!"

The entire room quieted down as he bellowed like a dragon. "How dare you speak that way to the Lady Tyrell!" shouted Maester Lomys, others of the household equally incredulous.

"I am a Targaryen King, the blood of the mighty dragonlords in my veins. I will not allow you to destroy me and the ones I love. Therefore, I demand a trial by combat."

Fossoway rolled his eyes while some of the more devout knights laughed. "Prince Rhaegar," bumbled the septon, "You are not allowed such a trial except in the jurisdiction with right of pit and gallows on you…"

"You misunderstand me Septon," Rhaegar replied, smirking darkly. The smarter ones managed to realize it, while Lady Tyrell and Lord Fossoway didn't. "I demand a Trial by Seven." Gasps came from the hall… a Trial by Seven could be ordered even if there were no charges, one of the oldest traditions of the Andals. "And I will do it without spilling a drop of Tyrell blood."

A scoff. "You can't honestly think…" Fossoway was cut off by clapping hands.

Alerie Tyrell had found her way out. "You have your trial, Prince Rhaegar."

* * *

Having served in such a capacity for years, Ellaria Sand didn't wish to be pampered by a lady in waiting. Truth be told, her status as the bastard daughter of Harmen Uller and the lack of a marriage with her new man made any request for one seem presumptuous… not that she minded. Lightly primping her dark brown curls in a controlled wildness that emphasized her smoky eyes, Ellaria smacked her lips. Checking the evenness of the cherry red lip paint in the looking glass.

_Seven bloody hells, you look ravishing._ As a connoisseur of both sexes, had Ellaria seen herself walking along the halls of the Water Gardens she'd have jumped her right there. Dressed in a sheer robe that hid her naughty bits but left nothing else to the imagination, Oberyn wouldn't be able to resist absolutely defiling her with his magic cock.

Her elation at his return disappeared as she turned to the opened door. Finding the Prince with a dark glower on his face. Slamming the door with a snarl as he kicked off his boots. Ellaria immediately grew concerned. "What is wrong, My Prince?" Ellaria went to him and embraced Oberyn lightly. Sighing in relief when he relaxed slightly. Leaning into her embrace. Gods, the feelings the once lecherous, free-wheeling Ellaria Sand had for Prince Oberyn were astonishing - not that the lecherous feelings ever went away, Oberyn's toleration and reciprocation of that being one reason she loved him so.

It was quickly clear she wasn't the target of his ire. "Apparently the reptile on the Iron Throne has seen fit to order the annulment of Elia's marriage."

She pulled back, eyes wide. "On what grounds?!" Now her ire was rising.

He chuckled darkly. "Apparently a septon in King's Landing said that the omens from the day of her wedding were… 'inauspicious upon further review,'" Oberyn hissed. "As if he could remember wiping his ass the day before."

Omens and the divine were usually elements of last resort. "Aerys must be scraping the bottom of the barrel, then." It was no secret that both of them recognized Rhaegar as the rightful King. "Can I suppose that your nephew and niece have…"

"Yes, both booted from the succession… I doubt Aerys recognizes them as legitimate anymore." He pulled out of the embrace and kicked at the large dresser. "And my illustrious, scheming brother asked me just an hour ago if we should offer a betrothal of my niece Arianne to the new 'Crown Prince' Viserys through back channels."

That truly shocked her. "He didn't." Ellaria fumed. "Elia would never forgive him for this."

"'Hedging our position,' he told me it was," Oberyn hissed. "And that was after he authorized this to be sent to every lordship in the Seven Kingdoms." Without delay he fished out a leaf of paper from his jacket and handed it to her.

_By my authority as Lord of Sunspear and Prince of Dorne, all bannermen and sworn house of House Martell shall remain neutral in the Targaryen succession dispute. We have no interest in such petty matters._

_Whomever triumphs in this clash will receive our loyalty and allegiance in the coming peace._

_Prince Doran Martell_

_Unbowed, Unbent, and Unbroken._

Ellaria wished she could have said she was surprised by this… she wasn't. Doran… much as the Dornish liked to separate themselves from the Andals of Westeros, Doran was exactly as many said Tywin Lannister was. Ambitious, ruthless, dispassionate. She remembered Tywin from the early years of Elia's marriage - always blunt and hard-charging even in his diplomacy. Doran wasn't like that, far more subtle but in that sense even more dangerous.

It could be said her treatment at his hands - and the hands of his household staff, apart from those either she or Oberyn had slept with amiably - clouded her judgement, but Ellaria knew that not to be the case. Elia confirmed it.

"He's planning for every contingency, and putting it on you to choose between your sister and Dorne."

Oberyn raised an eyebrow. "What?"

She guided him to the bed, sitting him down upon it. Taking his hands in hers as she stroked the palms. "Unless you want Dorne to fracture against its ruler, you can't tell Elia… or she'll tell Rhaegar and the secret is out. Even if you decline to go to negotiate a betrothal, you're bound to keep the secret." Such was the truly unforgivable part. Using love of realm to sunder the familial bond.

Sighing deeply, Oberyn fell into her arms. Holding her tight and pressing his head into the crook of her neck. "Gods, Ellaria. My family… it's tearing itself apart and I can't do anything to stop it."

"You'll find a way, my Prince. You'll find a way." Kissing his neck, Ellaria managed to pull back and smile softly. "I do have some information that could improve your demeanor."

He raised an eyebrow? "Did you find a Lysene whore to join our bed? While I'd love that… tonight I simply want you…"

She shushed him with a finger to his lips, beaming at how sweet the Red Viper really was "Perhaps later we can indulge your fantasy there." Ellaria took his hands and pressed them to her stomach. "Obara and Nymeria will have a sibling in several moons."

Watching his eyes widen, suddenly Ellaria was pressed flat on the bed. Her lover's lips upon hers as Oberyn roughly forced her robe up. Fingers brushing against her bare mound. Desperate, hungry, possessive. Copied by her frantic gestures to rid him of his trousers.

As she felt him thrust past her wet lips, Ellaria moaned. Biting his shoulder, urging him to rut inside her. Both of them eager to celebrate the small bit of joy in this time of troubles.

* * *

"Ominous day, Barristan."

It was a beautiful, sunny morning, but Barristan understood. "Aye. Looks like the entire Reach is here."

Rhaegar's gaze panned out at the crowd. "To watch me lose."

Barristan grinned. "To watch you win."

Gentle steps heard behind him, Rhaegar turned to see both Garlan and his mother. "Your Grace," Lady Alerie offered, smiling softly. "Thank you for acceding to a bloodless affair."

"I seek not blood, only the opportunity to protect my family and free the realm of my father's tyranny." While Alerie refused to answer that - understandable given her husband's position - she didn't seem to disagree. Rhaegar let up on her by approaching Garlan. "Be ready to clean my sword when this is done."

"You shall win, my King," Garlan proclaimed. "The gods will shine their light on the innocent."

Rhaegar nodded, not wishing to insult his squire by expressing his growing skepticism in the Faith - merely clasping his arm in respect. Making the young lad beam. Blackfyre tied to his waist, the King-claimant descended the stairs. Watching the beautiful Janna Tyrell locking lips with the man accusing him, Jon Fossoway. While she had the propriety to avert her gaze as they passed on the stairs, Fossoway grinned, twirling his sword in his hands.

"He has no honor," Barristan murmured. "You'll see him do something."

"Those with no honor are predictable. They'll always try to go for the kill," Rhaegar replied.

Soon, Rhaegar and Fossoway were assembled in the middle of the courtyard, people watching the entire thing from the massive crowds. The septon walked between the accuser and the accused, clearing his throat. "We are gathered in the sight of the gods to determine the existence of cause to send Rhaegar Targaryen to the King in chains. Having chosen a Trial by the Seven, his Grace must allow his accuser to select his champions."

Fossoway was quite predictable, choosing some of the toughest and most intimidating knights and men-at-arms he could find. Humfrey Hightower and Aerys Oakheart, eager young knights. Ser Vortimer Crane and Ser Mark Mullendore, sworn swords to House Tyrell. Igon Vyrwel, not a knight but wiry and keen. And a massive red-haired, bull of a man named Arryk, one of the Tyrell personal guards that probably could split logs open with his bare hands.

But had any fought in anything but tourneys?

"Choose your champions, Rhaegar of House Targaryen," the septon announced, all seven of the Tyrell champions watching with curiosity and intrigue.

Unlike Maegor, Rhaegar needed no urging to find champions. "I shall fight for his Grace," announced Ser Barristan Selmy, taking the position of honor to Rhaegar's right.

"So shall I," came Gerold Hightower only moments later, eyes trained on his niece on the balcony.

Oswell soon joined. "My sword serves the true King." Three great knights facing them, some of the Tyrell champions looked nervous.

The next two slots were taken by Myles Mooton and Richard Lonmouth, but alas… "That's only six, dragonspawn," Fossoway sneered.

Rhaegar remained silent, but Gerold turned to the watching crowd. "Is anyone here willing to fight for their King?!" No response.

"See, no one will risk their honor for a traitor…"

"I'll give it a go." Interrupting Fossoway mid-sentence, a young, rough-looking man stepped forward. He had the look not of even a hedge knight, but a common man-at-arms in cheap armor. Even Rhaegar's men gazed at him suspiciously as he took a place among them. "Well what are you cunts starin' at? I'm standin' with the King. I pledge my sword to him, so that's seven."

The septon composed himself. "And who are you, Ser…?"

Snorting, the man spat on the ground. "Name's Bronn. Not Ser… just Bronn."

"Gonna trust a lowly sellsword to fight for you?" taunted Humfrey Hightower, jeering at the King and his seventh 'champion.'

Ignoring the jeers, Rhaegar made his way to where Bronn stood. "Are you a sellsword?"

Eying Rhaegar, Bronn shrugged. "Honestly… just startin' out and looking for somethin' worth doin'."

"He'll be killed within the first minute, your Grace," warned Ser Richard. Chuckling for a moment before gulping. A throwing dagger suddenly pressed to his throat.

"You were saying?" Bronn asked, smirking as he quickly put the dagger away before the Kingsguards or Ser Myles could react. "Satisfied?" he asked the King-claimant.

Motioning for Richard to leave it alone, Rhaegar didn't break eye contact with Bronn. "You realize I have no reason to trust you… Bronn."

Bronn's dark brown - almost black - eyes regarded him with something akin to… respect. "I'd think less of you if you did trust me… but seems to me like you have no choice in the matter now does it?"

He had a point. "I still don't trust you."

"If I were to kill ya', I'd have pulled the knife on you instead of Loudmouth here."

Such was another good point.

Horns blaring along with the ominous stucco of drums, each line of champions formed opposite each other. Ten yards separating them. "Remember men, no blood."

"Where's the fun in that?" Bronn shouted, but a glare from Ser Gerold Hightower shut him up. The Old Bull was intimidating even to him.

The wait was interminable. Seconds seemed to tick by, warriors studying each other with baited breaths. Some praying, some plotting their moves, others still simply allowing their minds to drain of all but the coming fight - all having their hands on their weapons, ready to draw them.

At the blow of the horn fourteen blades emerged from their scabbards. Fourteen men charging at each other. Onlookers involuntarily flinching as steel clashed against steel as the lines crashed together.

Much as he was maligned, Bronn made the first 'kill' of the day when Ser Humfrey lunged at him. Shield emblazoned with the Hightower of his house making him formidable but slow, Bronn easily leaping out of the way of the knight's strong slashes. Dance suddenly becoming a sprint as he rounded his opponent in a mad dash - flat of his sword crashing into Ser Humfrey's back. The knight fell to the ground, a kick to the head sending him limp.

"How's that for a fucking sellsword!" he bellowed with a laugh before having to jump out of the way of a scrambling Ser Oswell, the massive Arryk bearing upon them with a greatsword bigger than Bronn was. "Always a bigger cunt."

It didn't take long for whatever formation there was to fracture. Every knight descended into one-on-one or two-on-one combat, the Tyrell champions seeking glory while those of the King-Claimant were battling for survival. The former bold and frenzied while the latter defensive and ruthless. After Ser Humfrey, three others 'fell' in quick succession. A sword swipe knocked the helm off Ser Myles Mooton, opening him up to the hilt of Ser Mark Mullendore to crash into his face. "Stay down," he growled, not about to take the life of someone who was not out to take his. The King's side gained a victory when Ser Vortimer Crane was tripped up by a kick from Ser Barristan, sword tip to the chest sending him to the sides. But a wide punch from Arryk felled Oswell, leaving Bronn to fight the massive beast of a man by himself.

Fossoway grinned under his visor, shield blocking a strike from the mighty Blackfyre. Sallying forth and nearly running Rhaegar over had the King-claimant not sprung back. "Give up, dragonspawn. You will lose."

"I don't plan to." Again, Rhaegar gave ground, wanting his much more heavily armored opponent to tire. Around him, Ser Richard was being outmaneuvered while Gerold and Barristan were backed up into each other, each swinging and parrying flurries of attacks headed their way. Bronn had the worst of it - somehow getting Arryk to drop his blade, the giant merely picked up a wooden bench and used that as an impromptu club. The sellsword only just managed to leap out of the way.

Emboldened, Fossoway hacked in a frenzy, eyes turning red with bloodlust. Just tasting the victory, the triumph as he rode into King's Landing with Rhaegar's head… how the King would reward him… The flat of Blackfyre smashed into his helmet, denting it before redoubling and chopping his shield in half. Forcing Fossoway back.

Little Loras, peeking above the stone railing, was enthralled by it all. The brave Kingsguards fighting together as one - and his great-uncle was one of them! "Mama… I wanna be a kingsguard," he begged with wide brown eyes.

Alerie ruffled his hair. "I know you do, my son." He'd have to hope for Rhaegar to win. _My son wouldn't survive a year in Aerys' court..._

"When King Rhaegar wins, I'll make sure you get on, little brother," Garlan promised.

Their aunt scoffed. "Come on, Ser Jon!" screamed Janna, supporting her dashing intended. "Finish him!" More pious members of the crowd hollered in favor, while most others secretly rooted for the handsome Prince. Rhaegar winning them over with both his fury and his honor.

He had been right. The blades of his men hadn't spilled a drop of blood.

Dropping his visor back down, Fossoway snarled and charged - shield abandoned on the ground. But the disadvantage remained. The thick plate still slowed him down, took the speed and power out of his strikes. Rhaegar nimbly fell back. Giving ground in a wide arc - his silver hair flying free from the bun that made many maidens swoon. Wishing they were in Queen Elia and Lyanna's place. Fearing for him when Blackfyre only just blocked a furious hack from Fossoway's greatsword.

"Go Rhaegar!" Eyes were drawn to Loras, now held in his elder brother's arms. Both of them cheering for the Dragon Prince. With their little lords on their side, the new majority behind Rhaegar joined in. Openly cheering as he pushed Fossoway back.

It seemed as things shifted quickly. Gerold and Barristan broke out of their defensive stance and charged their exhausted enemy. Twirling his blade, the Bold smashed the hilt into Ser Arys' face and sent him reeling with the flat smacking into his shoulder. The White Bull was less fancy, merely running headlong into the tired Ser Mark. Two powerful left hooks felling him. Ser Richard fell on his back, almost out of the fight before he leapt to his feet with the agility of a much smaller man. It caused Vrywel to trip up, himself collapsing and finding a sword at the back of his head.

Alone in facing the redheaded giant, Bronn dodged the swing of the bench. He dodged it again, then leapt just out of range, agility keeping him one step from his brains splattering on the grass. Anticipating this, the brute charged… only for Bronn to unexpectedly charge back, getting within Arryk's swing and kneeing him with full force in the groin. Crying out in agony, the giant collapsed, clutching his stones gingerly. Theatrical as always, Bronn laughed. "Bigger they are, the harder they fall." For a sellsword, from the cheers he seemed to become a favorite of the crowd.

All that was left were the King-claimant and the accuser, battling it out. Rhaegar watched as his opponent grew tired and stood his ground. Engaging finally, Blackfyre slicing through the air in furious strikes. Each blow swung across, redoubling in a twirl to attack again. Oftentimes smacking against plate rather than Fossoway's own blade. Even snarling and charging again, the desperate counterattack was beaten back… Rhaegar roaring, knocking the sword out of Fossoway's hand with a left swing, uppercutting him to the jaw, and one last thrust...

The onlookers and fellow combatants watched as the tip of Blackfyre rested just an inch away from Jon Fossoway's throat. His own sword was raised, but nowhere near being able to hack down before Rhaegar ran the Valyrian steel through his neck. A clean kill by the rule of the trial - if done without blood, it was an automatic disqualification.

Rhaegar looked upon the surprised knight with a fiery gaze in his violet eyes. The man was actually arrogant enough to think he could defeat him. For the smallest moment, Rhaegar desires to push ahead and end this useless excuse for a knight. It only lasted a moment. "Yield," he commanded brusquely.

Watching Rhaegar with thinly veiled hate - and not a little humiliation at being outfoxed - it morphed into a crestfallen fatigue. Fossoway's arms fell to their sides, as obvious a yield as if he said the words.

"The gods have declared Rhaegar Targaryen innocent of all accusations against him," breathed the septon, shocked himself. In an instant, the Trial of Seven was over.

It wasn't a split second before Bronn whistled. Barristan laughed, while Myles Morion clasped Aerys Oakheart on the back across from Gerold hugging his nephew. Arryk offered a flagon of wine at Oswell, who grinned and chugged it down greedily. "Well done, my Prince," stated Vyrwel, who approached Rhaegar with an outstretched hand. "It was an honor to last more than five minutes against Rhaegar Targaryen wielding fuckin' Blackfyre."

Taking the proffered hand, Rhaegar offered a small smile. "Gonna tell your grandkids all about it?"

"Fuck that, gonna go to the tavern and get every maiden to eat out of the palm of me hand… and then swallow something else." Vyrwel winked.

Rhaegar chuckled. "Priorities, priorities."

As the tension in Highgarden slowly began to dissipate after having shrouded the ancient keep for so long, one didn't find himself swept up in relief. Looking at his intended, chatting amiably with Lady Alerie about whatever gibberish women liked to blather about, Jon Fossoway wrenched his gaze away. He thought that his fortunes would finally improve after marrying into House Tyrell, only for his dolt of a Liege Lord to neglect his home in favor of higher ambitions. Ignoring him to cozy up to the dragons… _And now, my moment of triumph…._ _vaporized._

_No!_ He hadn't brownnosed himself for half a decade to back down now. The Starry Sept may now not reward a kill, but Arys would - if the wrath of the gods came upon him, so be it.

Ser Barristan approached his King. "Well, your Grace. I would say nothing good ever happens in Highgarden… but at least nothing tragic happened today."

"Well said, my friend…"

At a scream from one of the servants, everything after seemed to happen in slow motion:

Rhaegar turning…

Janna and Alerie's conversation ceasing…

Fossoway raising his sword to lop off Rhaegar's head…

Ser Barristan going for his sword… far too late…

Rhaegar's eyes widening as his brain processed the sudden attack…

The simple combat dagger smacking into Fossoway's chest just as he moved to strike. Staggering the knight, sword falling out of his hands as he felt the blade embedded into his heart… and then he fell. Blackness overcoming him.

"Nooo!" screamed Janna Tyrell, almost leaping off the balcony in a frantic attempt to get to him if not for her goodsister holding her back.

Standing there, uncaring of the stares directed his way or the cries of the never-to-be Lady Janna Fossoway, Bronn glanced down at the corpse of the once proud knight. Without fuss, he turned to look at Rhaegar. "Well that's got it done." Bronn snorted, finally eyeing the rest of his audience. "Come on, 'ave a look!"

"You have no honor, lowborn!" raged Janna between her sobs, holding her goodsister tightly.

"And this fucker was a knight." He lightly kicked Fossoway's corpse again, making emphasis on the chivalrous highborn that committed the most egregious sin to the Faith. "And apparently I'm the dishonorable one."

Closing his eyes, Rhaegar opened them and met Bronn's gaze. "Thank you."

The sellsword shrugged. "Just when this is all over, remember the sour cunt that saved your ass, my King." He said the last sarcastically.

"No need, you can remind me yourself." He smirked as Bronn looked confused. "By accepting my call for seven, you swore your sword to me. Seems you'll be accompanying your King in the wars to come."

Bronn groaned. "Ah fuck."

Frowning, Gerold rested his hand on the pommel of his sword and walked to where Alerie could see him. "Niece, the intended for your goodsister nearly committed the blackest of sins. I'd advise you to make sure your husband has better tact in choosing whom next is intended for her." Alerie could only watch him with guilt and grief, still comforting the sobbing Janna.

"Open the gates!" attention for those that hadn't filtered out of the courtyard once the fighting was done turned to see an ornate wheelhouse roll through the gatehouse. A footman quickly opened the door… revealing a cane that gingerly assisted its wielder as she exited the wheelhouse.

Sensing that he was the last person Olenna Tyrell expected here, Rhaegar bowed respectfully. "My Lady."

For once genuinely shocked, her aged yet still sharp eyes flickered about the courtyard. Finding the milling knights, her crying daughter, and the body of Ser Jon Fossoway in a puddle of his own blood still left upon the ground. The Queen of Thorns gathered her wits quickly. "Seven bloody Hells! What happened here?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hell yes! Bronn is now on Team Rhaegar!
> 
> Right here, Rhaegar denied the Faith any chance to side with Aerys as the gods showed him favor in their eyes. Who knows what Olenna will do.
> 
> Elia and Lya are in love and isn't it wonderful? :D
> 
> What is Doran's angle here?
> 
> Next time, Olenna has a gift for Rhaegar.
> 
> If I get 40 comments, I'll review on Saturday.


	46. Let it be Done Quickly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys. Technical difficulties yesterday, so the update is out today. Enjoy :)
> 
> In good news, I just asked my girlfriend to marry me and she said yes :D
> 
> Awesome stuff: I have just started a collaborative project called The Targaryen Dynasty with BlackRose999. It is an interesting take on post-The Bells Targ restoration.
> 
> Ran into some awesome stories recently: A Jade Dragon by bykim0120 is awesome, while the new story The Reign of the Wolves and the Regency of the Dragons by KingOfIreland777 is a unique take on the post-Robert's Rebellion if Ned was bold. Both have my recommendation.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

"Would you like some wine, your Grace," Lady Olenna Tyrell offered.

Nursing a sprained wrist, Rhaegar politely declined. "That sounds lovely, Lady Tyrell, but I have a feeling that I will need all of my wits about me."

Hobbling towards her seat, Olenna laughed. "I can see why most like you, Prince Rhaegar… or is it King Rhaegar?" She didn't wait for his answer. "Most men would guzzle down my family's stores until ready to void their stomachs, all primed to underestimate a woman."

"Considering the origins of my House, it would be unwise to underestimate women," Rhaegar replied. "Now, the biggest problem I face is that most underestimate me."

"Ah yes." Olenna sat, frowning darkly… though not at him. "Please know that whatever happened down there was done without my knowledge. My gooddaughter will be disciplined."

"I don't think it was her fault, Lady Olenna. She seemed to want me to triumph. Your daughter's intended on the other hand…"

Olenna waved him off. "Fossoway? I've been looking for a means to break that betrothal for years. You did me a damn favor." Folding her hands together, Olenna leaned forward. "I'll be blunt, your Grace, I think you're going to win."

He raised an eyebrow. "Quite a statement for a Tyrell."

"Well, my son and I don't often see eye to eye." _That dolt would sell the Reach for a gold doublet if I wasn't here._ "I've come to different conclusions than he."

"So let me guess, my Lady. In exchange for letting me go, keeping Garlan as my squire, and allowing the forces from Starfall transit through the Reach, you wish me to guarantee House Tyrell's position?"

She laughed. "Am I that transparent, your Grace?"

Rhaegar laughed too. "No, you have many decades of sharpness left - I just know how bent over a barrel your family is."

"Quite… unfortunate, isn't it?" Without delay, Olenna pulled out a document. "Here, with my signature and seal."

Looking over the signed and sealed sheet of parchment, Rhaegar folded it and placed it in his breast pocket. "You know, Lady Olenna, I won't think that this piece of paper grants me an alliance with you. Paper… it can be so easily…"

"Forged?" Olenna finished for him. The Queen of Thorns smiled, skin crinkling into deeper wrinkles. "You are smarter than I give Targaryens credit for. I wouldn't begrudge you if you did want further assurance." She frowned. "My grandson as your hostage?"

"Garlan is my squire. Hostages are different."

Her brows rose. "Loras? He's but a child" Olenna sighed though. "Gods know that my son and elder grandson are hostages of the Mad King. Loras is safer with you."

Rhaegar rolled his eyes. "Do you take me for a brute that threatens children? No, I was thinking more like a betrothal."

This attracted Olenna's interest. "If you agreed to betroth Aegon and Margaery, then I believe even my idiot son would declare for you."

"I need assurance, not brownnosing." Seeing that she was receptive though, Rhaegar continued. "Lord Titus Peake declared for me at Starfall, the only Lord of the Reach to do so."

"Hmmmm… didn't think any of that family had what it took."

"He does. An honorable man, but with the spirit of the Marcher Lords." He smiled softly. "Your daughter is currently without an intended, and I may not swing that way but Lord Titus is far comlier than Ser Jon."

Olenna slapped her knee, letting out a rare laugh. "You have the boldness of your ancestors, Rhaegar Targaryen. When would…"

"Immediately when the column arrives at Highgarden. They are to marry and Janna moves north with the baggage claim. I suppose you could say she is my hostage, for her conduct towards me didn't endear her any favors."

A sigh. "Yes, she was always a besotted idiot to that twat." Mace made the betrothal while she was away, so she was stuck with it. "Now, one last matter…"

"Your son won't be spared, Lady Olenna." Rhaegar was adamant about this. "I may be inclined to offer him exile if he doesn't engage in any atrocities, but his flagrant courting of my father's madness for a royal betrothal is unacceptable." This had been a long conversation with his brides. He would have to be merciful, but not naive.

"My son is not a traitor, just a dolt." Olenna seemed to have no trouble echoing Ser Gerold's characterizations - she'd probably chuckle at them. "He's been that way since he was a boy, obsessed with pomp and title but too lazy and stupid to go about it right." She sighed. "But he's my son and doesn't know any better. Please spare him."

Rhaegar's eyes narrowed. "I am a parent too, so I understand, but I can't. None of my father's inner circle can continue with title after I take the Iron Throne."

Olenna sighed again. "What if I sweeten the pot?" Rhaegar said nothing, simply listening. Wordlessly she reached under her desk. Revealing a secret compartment, out of which she drew something round and heavy. "Here."

The King-claimant gaped incredulously - completely shocked. "That… that's a dragon egg…" It was ossified just like the ones his father had acquired, the color an almost emerald green with little swirls of gold upon the scales. It captivated him. "Where did you find a dragon egg?"

"Your uncle," she said simply. "Prince Duncan was supposed to marry me, and was actually fond of me rather than that ditzy tart Tessa Baratheon." Olenna snorted, as if reflecting on an old rivalry. "I wasn't as fond of him in that way, but that's not the point. Anyways… your grandfather wished to pick Tessa, but Duncan wanted Jenny the Woods Witch - he felt guilty about spurning me, so he gave me this as a gift."

Based on what he knew of his uncle, Rhaegar wasn't surprised - it seemed something like the gentle Prince Duncan would do, even with something this valuable. "And you kept it?"

"Who gives away a dragon egg? Knew it would come in handy some day." She waited, letting it hang. "I think your uncle knew that as well, at least that's what he told me."

Struggling to listen, Rhaegar had to wrench his gaze from the egg. Its scales almost pulsing with heat that he could feel even feet away. "What… what did he tell you?"

A low giggle came from the Queen of Thorns - an actual giggle. "Oh, I didn't want him as I wanted my late husband, but Dunk… he was a good man. Cared for him, and he me oddly enough. First person to truly respect me for my brain instead of my beauty." Olenna had been a famous beauty in her day, as everyone told Rhaegar over the years. "We'd talk, and right during the Tourney to celebrate his betrothal to Tessa, he came in my room with this in a sack." She tapped the dragon egg. "Jenny, she apparently told him that I needed this as a particular gift. That only I could protect house Targaryen when the time came… whatever balderdash that was, but Dunk believed it."

_"...you shall find your destiny here."_ Feeling the call of the egg, Rhaegar's recollection of Melisandre's words seemed to ring tru.

"So, the egg is yours if you spare my son and his title as Lord Paramount of the Reach."

Rhaegar barely heard what the Queen of Thorns said. Honestly, the burning of Harrenhal could be commenced not ten feet from him and he wouldn't notice - too entranced was he by the emerald egg before him. Violet eyes glassy, yet also bright. As if glowing in the low light of the winter's afternoon.

Slowly, hesitantly, the King-claimant reached out to the precious sphere. Placing his palm on it, hand caressing the smooth scales. They were soothingly warm to the touch.

"Your Grace?" he heard Olenna ask.

He gently took it in his arms. Clutching it as one would a baby, skin tingling from the warmth. "Did you place this in the fire, recently?"

Olenna blinked. "Why would I bloody do that?"

"It's warm…"

"No it isn't. Do my hands look burned?" Rhaegar only furrowed his brows in confusion.

_Rhaegar…_

_Rhaegar..._

Blinking, Rhaegar glanced down at the egg. Hearing voices, but finding the only other person in the room with closed lips, eying him warily. _What… what are you…?_

There was a change in the sphere, almost activated as soon as he took it in his hold. _Rhaegar… Rhaegar…_ Within the egg, he could swear that something moved inside. Electrified by his very touch…

"Do we have an agreement?"

Meeting Olenna's gaze, Rhaegar nodded.

* * *

"Please don't jape me, Dacey," Ashara said incredulously, gaping at the taller northerner - purple eyes glistening with mirth. "And you confess that all it took to gain Arthur's prurient attention was an emerald dress and a ponytail?"

Dacey giggled, running both hands down her belly as she gazed up at the sky. Enjoying the seas breeze wafting into the Starfall gardens. "Oh yes. His mouth dropped like a trout and he could barely speak."

Laughing hard - almost bawling over at the thought - Ashara wiped a tear from her eye. "It's shocking, given that over the years Arthur has been exposed to utterly gorgeous maidens either practically nude or literally nude, and yet he seemed as chaste as a Silent Sister. One would think that repeated exposure to the affections of those that make our mutual friend Ellaria look a…"

"Silent Sister?" Dacey finished.

"I wouldn't go that far," Ash smirked. "Perhaps a cloistered maiden. I would say Elia, but given what you tell me of the boat ride from Sunspear, I can't consider her inexperienced in the arts of romantic pleasure." The two of them blushed - their monarchs hadn't been… discreet about their carnal pleasures. "Nor can I say the same of you, mother of my nephew."

Grinning, Dacey thought of how amazing a lover her paramour was. "Was he really a… I suppose I could use the term maid?"

Ashara shrugged. "I wouldn't refer to him as that in public - male ego and all that - but yes. Never broke his vow of chastity once, until you."

She looked guilty. "It still weighs on him sometimes, I see him tense… but if anything, Arthur is more devoted a knight than before."

"There's a reason he… if not by the canons, broke the spirit of the Kingsguard oath with you, Dacey. All those other maidens, he was used to their schemings and seductions. A man like him, earnest and dour, yet also fierce - he met his match in a northerner." Ash reached around Dacey's waist and pulled her in for a light hug. "Besides, you are equally devoted to their Graces. I am certain that his mind knew deep down that you were the one to both provide love and enhance his canonical duties."

Looking at Ashara, Dacey beamed. "My children will have the best aunt."

Ash raised an eyebrow. "Children?"

"Aye, children. When all of this is over and Rhaegar rules, I would seek a daughter from Arthur… hopefully her aunt would help her look glamorous. I'm afraid I don't know much, and Ellaria's taste is more suited to…"

"Selecting a brothel's wares?" Ash finished. The two women shared a smile. "Seems I'm the only maiden left in this keep…"

"I'm sure there is a young knight that catches your fancy?"

Biting her lip, Ashara angled her head downward. "There is one… but in that I encounter a quandry."

Dacey furrowed her brows. "What kind of quandary." Arriving at the edge of the gardens, battlements ahead, Ashara stopped. Eyes trained on a particular figure alone against the parapet. Following the gaze, Dacey's eyes widened. Understanding… "Ah, same quandary as me." _What is it about that white cloak?_

Ser Benjen Stark leaned against the stone parapet, idly watching the lazy course of the Torrentine into the Summer Sea. Such a beautiful land, of which Benjen had seen more of in the last two moons than his entire life aside for one journey to White Harbor and Last Hearth respectively with his father.

_My father…_

So proud he was of his white cloak, he hadn't truly enjoyed the last days with his father… or Bran for that matter. _Some son or knight I turned out to be._ Neglecting his father and brother while allowing Lyanna to be attacked and brutalized by the King.

_Your loyalty is to the King and no other._ The oath was ironclad.

_Rhaegar is my King._ His resolve was also ironclad.

"If I didn't know better, I would think it's his Grace you share blood with, not her Grace."

Startled, Benjen turned on his heels only to relax… then tense up again at the sight of Ashara Dayne - truly the most beautiful maiden in the Seven Kingdoms. "My Lady," he said, bowing. "Forgive me, but I did not notice you."

It had taken several minutes for Dacey to build enough courage in Ashara to approach. "Not a proper attitude for a Kingsguard, is it?"

"I have a lot on my mind… and I'm not protecting anyone at this moment."

"My brother would say that it's the duty of a Kingsguard to always be on alert for threats to their charges."

Benjen sighed. "Perhaps it's all still growing on me."

"You'll get there." She took place beside him, purposefully getting close. "You're brooding. Why?"

"Same reason as my sister weeps, or that my brother married a stuck-up priss."

His rough bluntness only made him more attractive to her. _Arthur, Rhaegar, and Elia are onto something with northerners._ But his words saddened her. "I'm sorry."

"Rhaegar will kill him… Just thinking that for the first two moons of my oath I was bound to protect that slug…"

"Oaths are valuable, I believe," Ash offered, almost shuddering when his grey eyes found her. "Arthur believes them pacts with the gods - our gods, mind you. But the gods know when one must act in a manner… not all honorable."

"Is that what he says to rationalize having a child with Dacey?" There was a slight hostility in her beautiful face, so Benjen backtracked. "Not suggesting there's anything wrong with it, but is the oath bendable on that alone?"

Her gaze softened. "No… I think Dacey enhances Arthur's oath. For the former… From how he speaks, those oaths that bind a person to the greatest atrocities represent an oath abandoned by the gods."

He looked at her quizzically. "And who is to decide when such an oath is abandoned?" She didn't reply immediately. "Maegor Targaryen engaged in brutality to defeat the Faith Militant. Would that break an oath simply because he was ruthless?"

Benjen Stark was deeper than he seemed - Ashara found herself further in lust for this man. "I believe a truly honorable person can tell the difference."

"Perhaps you're right." Benjen rubbed the back of his neck. "Arthur believes that his love of Dacey enhances his oath?"

"Aye. She is as loyal to their Graces as he."

"Would you say you share the same loyalty, my Lady?"

Blinking, Ashara looked at Benjen… finding a restrained desire in his eyes. "Yes." Feeling bold, she turned to look at him. "And I think I know why you ask."

"You do, huh?" Benjen smirked.

"I do." Without hesitation, she reached up and pulled him into a sweet kiss.

* * *

"Lord Walter Whent." Master of War Qarlton Chelsted's eyes settled on the tall yet frail Lord of Harrenhal. Age had not been kind to the Lord of the largest castle in all of Westeros, and fate would match it in wrath. "You have been found guilty of treason against his Grace, Aerys Targaryen, Second of His Name. Do you wish any final words?"

"Mercy!" cried young Mina Whent, yelling her desperation at the small councilor. Behind, Lady Shella Whent watched with barely disguised hate. "Our father is innocent, I beg mercy, my Lord!" Without delay, Boros Blount smacked her on the cheek, sending her sprawling. A red handprint marring her pretty face.

"Bastard!" Shella slapped him back for hurting her daughter, leading the burly knight to rock his fist into her gut. Felling her as well, laughing as he did it.

"Stay down, cunt."

Eyes narrowing, Lord Whent glared at Chelsted. "Is this what your King has come to? Hurting innocent women and girls? Slaughtering keeps on dishonorable tricks?"

Chelsted frowned - Harrenhal could hold out against a besieging army for years with enough supplies, but not against a bribe to a sworn sword that opened a back gate. Ser Boros leading - well, leading from behind - hundreds of men that swarmed in, slaughtering everything they saw and opening all gates. After, it was now thousands that slaughtered everything they saw. Including Walter Whent's four sons.

Even now, the pyres of the murdered men still reached higher than even the Kingspyre Tower. Undoubtedly hundreds of bastard Rivers' would be born in nine moons from the number of rapes the King's forces committed against the defenseless women and girls. He could care less. "This is your punishment for your treason, Lord Walter. Is that all?"

"Rhaegar will kill you all… that's if your King doesn't do the deed first."

Rolling his eyes, Chelsted motioned to the executioner. With a single swing of his sword, the Curse of Harrenhal would claim its latest victim - Black Harren undoubtedly smiling from wherever pit he slunk to after his immolation.

Half an hour later, Chelsted was gazing at the piles of corpses. Bannermen and conscripted locals hauling them to the pyres. Already the flies were congregating on them in spite of the cold, making the whole air quite unpleasant. _Hopefully Lord Tully will get the message._ From this and the attack on Maidenpool, though the Mooton forces managed to largely escape. _The King's favor will smile upon me._

"Lord Qarlton." Looking up from the carnage, Chelsted found the stolid Ser Willis Wode, master-at-arms of Harrenhal. Nominally loyal to House Whent - emphasis on the nominal. "Seems like the castle is yours."

Nodding, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Aye, it is." Wordlessly, he took a coinpurse from his belt and dropped it in the knight's hand. Paying the turncoat what he was owed for his services. "The rest is in a wagon in my baggage train. Plenty to buy more lands for yourself."

Wode furrowed his brows. "But, my Lord. I was promised Harrenhal. You said…"

"I said that your assistance in taking the castle without bloodshed of the King's armies would result in a reward." He gestured to the purse. "And you have. But Harrenhal will go to Boros Blount for his bravery in leading the attack."

"Boros the Belly?! That little shit?!" An incredulous look formed on Wode's face - to which the Master of War didn't begrudge him for. Blount was a little shit, but apparently his attempt to 'valiantly slay the demon knight at the King's Tourney' had won the King's favor. "I turned on my liege, Chelsted," Wode hissed, his already stiff neck growing even tenser. "I deserve this keep as my reward, or an equally prestigious keep. I heard Riverrun is nice this time of year," he said smugly.

Chelsted scowled. "Are you refusing a direct decree of his Grace?" Wode's face fell. "I would hate for this to reach King's Landing before that of your cooperation and continued fortification of the keep against House Tully." Dumbly nodding, Wode raced away, Chelsted chuckling under his breath. It was only too easy.

* * *

As soon as the spoonful reached her tongue, Cersei moaned something far more apt in a brothel. "Oh, gods." The squash and bacon soup steaming in front of her had a taste she could only describe as springtime - especially combined with the honey-braised pork belly and fresh, crusty bread. _This is better than coupling… unless it's Ned._ "More cider, please."

"Yes, my Lady," the servant girl chirped, curtsying before farting out of the private dining chamber - used by Cersei's father for family dinners… those were rare since Joanna died.

Melara Hetherspoon raised a brow across from her, which Cersei noted. "What?" she asked gruffly.

"'Please'?" She laughed. "Seven Hells, you're in a good mood."

She blinked. "Why do you say it that way?"

A scoff from Jeyne Farman on the other side of her. "You never treat the servants so well. I mean, you're better than as a child, but still…" It wasn't odd for the Light of the West to blow up at the maids or the stableboys.

Pushing her golden locks behind her shoulder, Cersei moved her hand to her growing belly. Patting the swell hidden by her gowns. "I suppose I am glad my stomach has calmed," she smiled. "A piece of my beloved growing inside me, accepted by my father…" Such was a bit of a euphemism. Tywin Lannister hadn't spoken to her since the confrontation in the audience hall. "And I think the circumstances will bring us together soon."

It took a moment for Melara to decipher that. "You mean the death of his father and brother?" She frowned. "I never thought you to be that cold."

Her mod turned from sunny to scowling in an instant. "Gods, Mel, are you that thick-headed. Of course I hate that Ned lost his family." Her poor direwolf, having to endure all that chaos and grief alone? _I should be there, holding him close and taking his pain away._ Tears clouded her vision at the mere thought. "Fuck… damn these mood swings."

To her credit, Melara looked apologetic. "I'm sorry… I should have realized…"

"No, it's fine." Cersei wiped her eyes. "Just now, him being a Lord and little Robb or Ellyn growing inside me should finally sway father. Convince him to finally let me be with Ned in his time of need."

"I understand." She placed her hand over Cersei's. "If it helps, Jeyne and I would be more than happy to come North with you… If all northern lovers are as good as you say Eddard Stark is, then I probably would go by myself." The frown on Cersei's face was worth the jape.

The door opened but instead of the servant girl returning, it was Tyrion - his face grim. "Sister… Lady Farman… Lady Hetherspoon."

"Brother."

"Imp." Taking cues from Cersei, her friends saved a passing contempt for the dwarf. Especially as he grew older and his looks grew exceedingly prurient in nature. "Why are you interrupting your sister's meal?"

Tyrion gave a pained look. "I wouldn't if I didn't have reason." Ignoring Melara from then on, he turned to Cersei. "May we talk in your chambers?"

"What is this about?" While she didn't actively try to torture him as had been the case before, Cersei still didn't wish to be around Tyrion in more than small doses. Old habits died hard, she supposed. "If this is some prank…"

"I wouldn't jape about this. Please, let's go to your chambers." Catching how serious he was, Cersei nodded - rising and offering Melara a look of apology for the intrusion.

The dining chambers were only a short walk down the corridor to hers. "Alright, Tyrion. What could be so important to interrupt my lunch. Little Robb or Ellyn needs their sustenance."

_My little niece or nephew…_ Honestly, Tyrion didn't know who would be a bigger victim from this news, Cersei or the babe she carried. _Mayhaps both…_ "Sister… you know that Brandon Stark is dead."

"Yes, I know that. Burned alive by the Mad King… gods, I thank all above that Ned wasn't there." She had cried softly that night for him. It's as I said - I should be there to comfort him. "What of it now? Did Rhaegar finally arrive from Dorne? Did father throw his lot with Rhaegar?"

"Well… no. Efforts to secure an alliance by marriage have… hit a snag."

"What are you talking about? Shouldn't Queen Lyanna's brother, the Lord of Winterfell, merit an alliance?" There was no reason why Ned would deny an overture from father, unless… "Did father tell Ned to get stuffed?" Tyrion said nothing. "If he did then I'll fucking ride to Winterfell and marry him myself…"

Tyrion's raised hands stopped her. "Father never contacted the Starks… at least not before the news came in." He had never seen Tywin fume as he had, though Tyrion had been told by Genna that the reactions to Cersei's pregnancies had been the worst. To learn that Ned Stark had acted so decisively before he could even make an overture… It wasn't pretty.

Taking that and Tyrion's silence for the worst, Cersei's voice dropped low. "Brother… what happened…"

His words hit her like a collapsing roof. "Ned married another."

Cersei stood there a moment before it truly sunk in. She staggered, forced to fall atop her bed - face white as if drained of blood. "Who…" came the lonely reply.

"Lady Catelyn Tully, his brother's betrothed. From what father figures, it was the only way to get the alliance between the North and the Riverlands. I'm sorry." He waited for her rage, for her to scream and shout and throw things, but shockingly nothing came. "Sister…"

"Get out."

"Cersei…"

"I said get out!"

Craven in that moment, Tyrion scurried out. It wasn't till he shut the door did he hear the first glass or crystal piece smash against the wall.

Straight… turn… straight… straight… turn… turn… Cersei wandered aimlessly through the keep. The servants all gave a wide berth, knowing her penchant for tantrums. And from what they previously heard echoing from her chambers, the fears grew.

Oh, had she thrown a tantrum. Nothing was spared, glass scattered in bits on the floors. Clothes ripped open, a knife dug powerfully into the mattress scattering goose down in the air. This was the truth of her life. All stolen away from her by the Mad King and Catelyn fucking Tully.

But anger and sorrow had long been replaced with numbness. She would never have Ned. She would never be his… love each other though they may, he was too honorable to betray an alliance. His oaths were too important, and ironically such rock-solid reliability was something she loved about him.

_And now he belongs to Catelyn Tully._ The bitch that they both shared concerns about while in bed together, worried that she'd be a horrible lady for Brandon. _At least Brandon loved her, and she loved him far more._ Her beloved would never be happy, Cersei knew this - Catelyn may not have been a whoremonger like Robert Baratheon, but she would be as horrible a match, simply in a different manner.

Suddenly a sound broke her daze. Blinking, Cersei found her attention drawn to a specific room. Finding a crib inside, yet no servant as a baby wailed within. "Hello?" she called out. "Someone?" For some odd reason the area was deserted. Sighing, she made her way in.

The babe hadn't been crying for long, face still pink and plump rather than swollen red. There was no doubting who it was. _Loren Payne's son… Podrick…_ There was no other dwelling in well-apportioned rooms such as these. Her uncles' children were five namedays at the youngest. Unable to just leave him - and honestly feeling the motherly tug that the tiny babe in her womb had given her - Cersei reached in.

"Hush, little one," she cooed, bobbing Podrick up and down. Saying thanks to the gods that he began to settle. "You know, I have a babe in my belly. One who will grow up here, same as you." The babe looked at her with wide eyes, uncomprehending but keen on her. Sighing, Cersei pulled him closer. "What am I going to do? What will happen to my babe?"

She'd never know the happiness in her love's eyes at their babe - never start a true family. Would Catelyn Tully ever grow to love him? Cersei had her doubts, but prayed that at least it would happen.

_At least one of us deserves to be happy._ In her arms, Podrick slept softly… and she truly couldn't wait to hold her babe the same way.

* * *

Coins jingled as Ser Will Cole tossed the sack onto the table. With a gesture from the young highborn, the grizzled knight opened it up, revealing a thousand gold dragons straight from the royal treasury. "Here you are. Ten sacks of these await you if the Brave Companions accept the contract I'm offering."

The Brave Companions were younger than most of the famed sellsword companies that Renly Baratheon had met with over the past weeks - dangling the coin and ingots that Connington had provided him for the task. Meeting with the rather… unsavory lots did not sit well with him, but since Robert and Stannis took the cream of the Stormlands off to the actual war, he would need to make due with what he had. And the Brave Companions were the most unsavory of the lot… but quite accomplished in war.

Comprising men from all over the known world - Westerman lancers, Dornish spears, Myrish crossbowmen, Qohorik light horse - their leader was a handsome Dornish bastard by the name of Tagyn Sand. What he had in looks was matched by the shrewd bitterness of a man that wished for more than his lot in life. "Ten thousand gold dragons, eh?" He stroked his clean-shaven face. Quite attractive, Renly figured, but nowhere near the beauty of his Griffin. "Tempting, very tempting."

"How soon can your men be ready to march with me?" Renly asked, growing impatient. The other sellswords, pirates, and brigands were glad to take the coin Connington provided. _If I didn't need their damn numbers…_

Tapping his bronzed cheek with a finger, Tagyn Sand thought it over. "Boat voyage from the Stepstones? I presume it would be about two moons…"

Another sack fell on the table. Ripping it open with a knife, a Baratheon guardsman revealed another trove of gold dragons. "Double if you make it less than one moon."

The dark eyes of Vargo Hoat settled on the boy, narrowed and savage. For a moment, Renly didn't know if the Brave Companion second-in-command wished to intimidate him or was eying him puriently. Either thought made his hand tremble underneath the table. "Young Barathhh-eon. Do nothh fuckth withh us," he hissed, fierce in spite of his ridiculous lisp - rumor said his innate savagery was only enhanced because of the laughs tossed his way. "I'll fuckthing rape your corpsthe if you screw us over…"

"Enough, Vargo," Sand interrupted, reaching out to scoop the coins in his hand. Jingling them gingerly. "How many others do you have? Sieges are expensive business in terms of manpower."

"Six thousand," Renly replied.

"All committed, I assume… including us?"

"Yes." The fact that all he could commit to the assault were five hundred Baratheon guardsmen, fifteen hundred assorted former criminals turned men-at-arms, and the two landed knightly houses of the former Peake keeps was not something he was keen on disclosing. If the negotiations with the other sellsword companies proved fruitful, he would have his men.

From their looks, neither Sand nor Vargo seemed to believe him. "And Starfall? The Daynes are a powerful House."

Forwarded by his beloved Jon, Renly had the latest whispers from Lord Varys himself. "The Peakes, Daynes, and Blackmonts have already combined their forces north of the Prince's Pass, marching for the Riverlands to fight with Rhaegar. Whatever forces remain are likely skeleton garrisons."

"I still don't like this," Sand mused.

"Why?" Vargo seemed less perturbed. "An unguardeth keep withhh twoth beauthiful Princesses ripe forth the takthing. I saythh we go forth it."

"You are not in command, I am," barked the Captain - Hoat shut it, but glowered darkly.

The young Stag was prepared for this. "This quest is with the full sanction of his Grace. Rewards far greater than these await you."

This was taken with serious thought. "I want Starfall."

"Lord Connington offers High Hermitage."

A smaller keep with fewer lands, the prospect of even this clearly sated the greed of the bastard of a Dornish landed knight. One who was denied even the most meager inheritance. "Done."

Renly smiled, another five hundred elite soldiers added to his cause.

* * *

"Well, that's a wrap." Elia tossed a stack of letters onto her desk, snarl on her lips.

"Calm down, my love," Lyanna cautioned, rubbing her bump - it was as if little Jon could sense his _muna_'s anger. "What could be so bothersome."

A sarcastic chuckle left Elia's lips. "It's clear I barely have a family anymore. Doran refuses to help, or even authorize the Dornish houses to decide for themselves if they wish to fight for us." Looking at Lya, her eyes shifted from a wary fatigue to a bright anger. "I'm sure if I denounced you - something I would rather cut off my hand than do - he'd send some support."

Lyanna looked worried. "Don't cut off your hand. I rather like what you use it for."

Looking cross, Elia couldn't help but curve her lip upward at that. "Filthy girl. Our husband is weak enough to fall for that, not I." But the knowing grin on Lya's face belied the falsehood. When it came to Lyanna, Elia was like a blushing maiden - as was the converse. "Also, the Westerlands rejected all my pleas." Her scowl returned. "I doubt that Tywin even wrote this letter. The calligraphy is too flowery for the old lion."

Starfall almost an island in the sea of war, Elia nevertheless had immersed herself in fighting the war from afar. Buried in paper and ravens as she desperately tried to back their husband from thousands of miles away. "You can only do so much, love," Lya cautioned. "You are a Queen, yet you are also human." Lyanna wished Elia wouldn't exhaust herself so much. At least not that way…

"Somehow I think Varys is behind this in some manner. Remember what I told you about the Lysene mummers?"

"Vaguely, although…" Lya grinned, "I do remember what we did after you said it." She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, grey eyes twinkling suggestively.

A warmth spread through Elia's body. Was she blushing? Perhaps she was. "Yes… that was most enjoyable, my wolf." Their first true night together as two parts to the whole, lovers even without Rhaegar - though him not being there left its own hole in their hearts. Every night since… bliss. "I sense you wish to distract me."

Lyanna feigned an innocent look, even though she knew Elia was on to her. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Shut it," giggled Elia, leaning over to kiss her on the lips. Pulling back just on the cusp of abandoning everything and making the she-wolf moan and scream. "Now back to what I was saying…" In spite of the desires coursing through her system, Lyanna composed herself and listened intently. "Back when I was pregnant with Rhae, no one really paid me any attention. I was just some young, worthless girl who's only responsibility was to birth heirs." Her voice caught - the demons still not fully vanquished.

"You are so much more than that." Lya placed a hand on hers, rubbing it gently with her thumb.

Elia melted, picking up the hand and kissing it. "I love you."

"I love you too… now go on."

Nodding, Elia continued. "It did give me an asset, in that if no one cared about me then they underestimated me. Therefore, I was able to hear the various comings and goings of court at the time of the Defiance."

"Oh." Lyanna knew that was when Aerys' descent into madness began.

"The strain between Tywin and Aerys… I believe that Varys was the one that instigated it by spreading rumors and whispering in the King's ear about Lord Lannister's duplicity. It's a classic mummer's trick, gain influence by castigating others." Elia shook her head. "After Steffon Baratheon died, Tywin was the only one loyal to Aerys out of actual friendship rather than personal gain."

Processing what her wife was telling her, Lyanna started to piece the trains of thought together. "So you think Varys is selectively feeding Rhaegar information for his own ends?" The man had seemed sincere when he spoke to she and Ned on Dragonstone.

Hanging her head, Elia massaged her temples. "I cannot be sure of anything, stuck here at Starfall, but my suspicions are raised. Look." She lifted up a letter from the desk. "When my mother and I travelled the realm looking for a bride for me, I made friends with Leyla Hightower, Lord Leyton's daughter. We've kept close in touch, and now she sent me this."

Lyanna scanned the letter. "The Hightowers are fully mobilized and marching for King's Landing along with the forces of the Honeywine." That was not a good development. No matter how obsequious Mace Tyrell could be, his true power rested with the ability to muster Oldtown as well as Highgarden. "We haven't heard this."

"Exactly, why didn't Varys speak of it? Why didn't Varys tip any of us off to Chelsted attacking Harrenhal… why didn't he warn your father and brother of Jon Arryn's true cause of death."

"Perhaps he didn't know."

Sighing, Elia closed her eyes. "Perhaps he didn't, perhaps he did. I can't be sure anymore and it's truly shredding my insides. I want to do something… to help Rhaegar in his time of need, but everything is showing me that I'm just a twenty nameday girl over her head." She buried her face in her hands, trying her best not to succumb to the headache and heartache.

And yet moments later, her hands were pulled away and a soft pair of lips pressed against hers. Insistently breaking through her walls until Elia's thoughts were only on the wild northern beauty before her. They pressed together, Elia feeling Rhaegar's babe nestled inside Lyanna. Our babe…

Breaking the kiss, Lyanna stood - pulling Elia with her. "Come with me. Tackle this with fresh eyes and a better mood once you perform your wifely duties."

Elia chuckled, smirking as she let Lyanna tug her towards their chambers. "Wouldn't want to neglect those duties, now do I?"

* * *

Peering ahead at the low sloping hill that blocked his view of the rest of the Roseroad, Alliser Thorne wished he had a swig of real wine - not the sour horse piss issued by the King's Landing quartermasters. "Where is he?"

Blinking, his subordinate glanced around for several moments. Lost of what to say. "His… Lord Varys' little birds had him riding this way… from Highgarden. He should be here."

"Well he's fucking not." Both in front and behind the collection of officers mounted upon their horses, the rows of a thousand men of the Targaryen Household Guard waited astride the Roseroad. Waiting to block the progress of Crown Prince and King-claimant Rhaegar Targaryen, wanted for high treason by the King.

Yet none wanted to face Rhaegar. To be the ones to put him down for good simply over what Princess Lyanna did at a tourney. Seven Hells, they all loved the She-Wolf of Winterfell, how fierce and wild she was.

All of this just didn't sit right with the landed knight. Proudly following House Targaryen, this level of civil war and familial bloodshed made his blood run cold and stomach roil. _Why? Why do this?_ House Targaryen almost destroyed itself in the Dance of Dragons… and then the Blackfyre Rebellions. This could have been the final end and Thorne just couldn't stand the thought.

"Riders approaching!"

Sure enough, a large detachment of horse crested the ridge. Many knights and mounted men-at-arms, tucked under a few fluttering Targaryen banners. "Spears and shields!" Thorne ordered. "Spears and shields!" He quickly dismounted, racing to the front of the line.

Starting out of Starfall with ten men and Melisandre, now over two hundred followed Rhaegar. Hedge knights and men-at-arms from the crowds of Highgarden and beyond flocking to follow the Dragon Prince into battle. For fame and glory, but also out of the desire to fight for the Seven's Chosen. A man who braved a Trial by Seven and emerged victorious, blessed by the gods. But faced with a thousand shock troops, they stilled their horses. Knowing they could not face a hedgerow of heavily-armed pikemen.

"That's Alliser Thorne," Ser Barristan observed. "He can't be fighting for Aerys."

"Perhaps a parlay? We could turn him," suggested Ser Myles.

"I say just run," remarked 'Ser' Bronn, having recently been knighted by his King. "We'll find a way around them.

The King-claimant turned to Melisandre. "Your thoughts?" The red priestess smirked, leaning in to whisper something in his ear.

At the front, the commander of the regiment cupped his mouth. "Rhaegar Targaryen," bellowed Thorne. "You are wanted…" The words tasted like bile in his throat, but his duty was his duty... "For the crimes of treason and witchcraft against King Aerys, Second of His Name. Present yourself for arrest!"

The Crown Prince - or King-claimant as he would style himself - slowly urged his stallion slowly forward. Leaving the protective screen of his hundred knights and men-at-arms. "Your Grace…" hissed Ser Gerold, but Rhaegar ignored his Lord Commander. Trotting Moondancer until about thirty feet separated him and the line of guardsmen. Dragonwings on his helm glinting in the noonday sun.

To Thorne's awe, as well as the awe of his men, Rhaegar dismounted - boots hitting the road with a puff of dirt. Without a word he stepped forward, one stride at a time towards the line. "Present spears!" an officer barked, the front row dropping their halberds in a rippling line. But still Rhaegar walked. Unafraid and unwavering in the face of what could end up as certain death.

Drawing his sword, Thorne pushed towards just before the first row. "Stop!" he commanded. _Gods, my Prince, just get out of here! Don't make us harm you…_ Still he walked - close enough to see his violet eyes underneath the helm.

But suddenly Rhaegar stopped - a mere ten feet from the points of the spears. He wordlessly removed his helm and let the magnificently forged steel fall to the ground. Again, he drew Blackfyre from its scabbard, the sword of Aegon the Conqueror glinting in the sun. It joined the helm on the ground.

Many a man gasped at the sight of their Prince so close. Silver hair blowing in the wind, showing not a glimmer of fear, he looked like a Valyrian god - strong and proud. Eyeing each of them with an inscrutable look upon his beautiful face, Thorne last of all, he raised his arms to the sides. "If there is one man!" he boomed, voice as powerful as a dragon's. "Who wishes to kill their King… Here I am. Let it be done quickly."

Not a sound followed but the chirping of birds... The buzzing of grasshoppers... The gentle breeze wafting across the landscape. All among each line men trembled, watching the mighty Dragon Prince offer himself up. Some were close to fainting, others shaking so much to nearly drop their weapons.

The clinking of plate and mail broke it all. Ser Alliser Thorne escaped the bounds of his men. Walking forward till he was almost face to face with Rhaegar - neither man gave away a single emotion as they stared each other down. Waiting, each second as if it would be an hour…

In a fluid motion, Thorne drew the blade at his hip and bent the knee before Rhaegar. "Long may he reign!"

The cries almost instantly followed. Armor and weapons smacking against the ground as entire rows of men bent the knee. Dozens, then hundreds, then the entire thousand.

"Long may he reign!"

"Long may he reign!"

"Long may he reign!"

All swearing allegiance to their true King. The man they were proud to follow, who would often personally train them and present them with commendations. Who paid them and visited them in their barracks, a mighty King that wouldn't fill the streets of their city with the stench of wildfire and burnt flesh. They did so out of their own will, proud to fight for him.

Taking Blackfyre back in hand, Rhaegar held it high as the entire regiment hurled to its feet. The cheers were deafening as both the knights that had followed him from Highgarden and the men-at-arms of the household guard converged to Rhaegar. "All hail the King!" shouted Ser Gerold, sword raised high.

"All hail the King!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of Napoleon securing the authority of the 5th Regiment during the Hundred Days was too awesome not to use. Check out the painting Napoleon's Return from Elba, by Charles de Steuben to see what the scene must have looked like for our Targaryen King.
> 
> Olenna with a green dragon egg (anything special about green ;D) to give to Rhaegar. The plot thickens :D
> 
> First glimpse of Cersei... I'm sad for her :(
> 
> Lucky that Elia has Lyanna to cheer her up with 'wifely duties' while she struggles with her worries for Rhaegar. I suppose the converse is also true ;)
> 
> Ashara and Benjen are getting along. Unfortunately, Renly is on the march.
> 
> Next time, Rhaegar arrives at Riverrun.


	47. Remember Your Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. We're getting close to the first battles of Rhaegar's Rebellion.
> 
> Awesome stuff: I have just started a collaborative project called The Targaryen Dynasty with BlackRose999. It is an interesting take on post-The Bells Targ restoration.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

"My King." Robert Baratheon set the Stormbreaker's head upon the ground. Kneeling before the Iron Throne. "I pledge my eternal fealty to you. My hammer and bannermen are yours to command." Wordlessly, Stannis drew his blade and knelt as well. A second son, even his blood uncle wouldn't care to hear from him. _Thank the gods for small favors._

Seated upon the grotesque throne of swords, Aerys Targaryen watched the pageantry with a tiny grin upon his face. "Nephew… it is good that you have chosen the right side. Your grandmother would have been pleased." Eyes shifting, he jerked his hand. "Now, Mace. Do it."

Gold-etched plate armor and pauldrons over a forest green gambeson, Mace Tyrell drew his sword and knelt. He removed his massive helm adorned with bright ostrich plumes. All the way to his growing gut, the man looked much like a peacock. Quite pathetic in Stannis' view, especially compared to the more modestly dressed Willas and Lord Leyton Hightower, both of them kneeling as well.

"My King, the swords and lances of the Reach are yours to command."

"Aside from House Peake, that is?" Aerys' eyes turned fiery. "You can't even control your fucking bannermen, oaf?"

Mace trembled underneath his armor. "Forgive me, your Grace. I was not aware of their treachery until recently." _Why does he put up with it?_ Was it all worth marrying his daughter to the now 'Crown Prince' Viserys? Who was sitting on a gilded chair next to his father while Jon Connington stood on the other side.

"We will deal with them once Prince Rhaegar is dead, your Grace," added Leyton Hightower, much more adept than his goodson.

Aerys huffed. "See that you do." He looked over at Connington. "Where are the Reach and Stormlands armies, Hand?"

"Still marching, your Grace. They took some time to answer the call due to the rains."

Snarling his displeasure, Aerys turned to Viserys. "See son, even the Lords that want to lick your bunghole will try and bend you over and take it." Quiet and very much withdrawn into himself, Viserys merely nodded, which Aerys found sufficient. His gaze returned to the kneeling Lords. "They better be here in a moon or I'll take off your hands, are we clear?"

"Yes, your Grace." Stannis' knees were already aching, but he fought to stay still.

The next words from the King's mouth almost made him topple nonetheless. "Stannis… isn't it? You look a lot like my brother, nephew."

He did not want to be noticed. "Thank you, my King and honored uncle."

"That was not a compliment. Try to not be as much of a fucking fool as he and you'll go far." Standing, Aerys simply walked out, followed by Ser Lewyn and the Prince. Viserys stumbled a bit, his eyes darting in every direction like a jittery dog. It unsettled the second son of Steffon Baratheon greatly, but Robert had to kill the man that took Lyanna from him so here he was.

At least he could stand again.

"Lord Tyrell, I understand your concerns…" Connington attempted to fend off questions as they retired to the Tower of the Hand.

But Lord Mace was not having it, cheeks puffed out and breath halting after the climb of the stairs. "I resent the implication that I knew what Lord Peake was doing under my nose… or my wife and mother." He gestured to Willas. "My son is here to fight for his Grace and my daughter is betrothed to the Crown Prince." The fact his daughter was barely one nameday didn't faze him. "My loyalty is unquestioned.

Connington had chosen not to inform the King of what happened at Highgarden. _Gods, Rhaegar continues to dazzle me._ But it wouldn't stop him from using it. "Be warned, Lord Tyrell, the fact that your mother chose to release Rhaegar to join his armies nor is trying to stop the Peakes, Blackmonts, and Daynes as they march for the Riverlands should keep you humble before me. Remember what happened to House Thorne." The Reach lords paled. After Alliser Thorne's betrayal, Aerys had his father, mother, and older brother burned before him.

The Lord of Highgarden opened his mouth to speak but merely stumbled and choked as a powerful arm smacked him in the back. "Cheer up, Mace!" Robert bellowed in his grandiose fashion. "We are fighting the righteous cause as all the septons say. What we need is someone bold to command and Craven Chelsted isn't the one to do it. Give me command, Jon," he demanded of Connington.

Shaking his head, the Hand demurred. "That would be impossible."

"Why the fuck would it?"

"Because Lord Chelsted has his Grace's favor after capturing Harrenhal. He will stay as Master of War unless circumstances change." _Until he fucks up and gets killed._

While someone with tact would have read the subtext, Robert looked incredulous. "He?! Any man can bribe the fuckin' castillain of Harrenhal and get the damn place to surrender. It takes a proper warrior like me to defeat the rapist and wife-slayer. With my sixty thousand we shall be unstoppable."

"Don't exaggerate your strength, Robert. It's unbecoming," Connington scowled. "You have less than thirty thousand that you can mobilize, and the truth is far lower than that because of the rains."

Stannis raised his eyebrow. "How could you possibly know that?"

The patronizing look Connington shot him greatly irked Stannis. "I have a keep in the Stormlands too, young Stannis." He was doing it too.

"One that you haven't visited in years." _Does he have a spy in Storm's End? Does Varys?_

"There are such things as ravens." A cagey smile really raised Stannis' warnings, but the Baratheon bit back a response. Allowing Connington to move on to other topics. "Lord Hightower, have you managed to meet with the High Septon?"

Lord Leyton was a cautious man, more here to protect his interests than to fight a war. "That fat fraud holds no influence in my court, so I can't be of service there. As for the Most Devout… they are inclined to oppose the polygamist but…" He drops his voice. "Rhaegar's victory in the Trial by Seven muddles things. They are unlikely to make any pronouncements except the decrying of polygamy."

"See that they do, and I'll take care of the High Septon."

"Of course, Lord Hand."

* * *

Supposedly safe behind the thick walls and riverine island of Starfall, such didn't leave the new Queens of the Seven Kingdoms free to sit idle while their husband fought his wars. Her quill scribbling upon a dispatch to Highgarden, Lyanna absentmindedly stroked the now noticeable bump of her abdomen.

Even in her readings, Elia was greatly attune to her wife's movements. "What's wrong?" Eyes zeroed in on Lyanna in a growing alarm. "Is the babe alright?"

Startled out of her work, Lya looked up. "What? Of course he's fine." She gave Elia a queer look.

Sighing, Elia clutched her heart. Relieved. "Sorry… I just saw your hand go to him and…"

Lyanna shook her head, smirking. "You're worse than Rhaegar sometimes."

"Well excuse me for caring about our son," Elia huffed.

_Our son…_ The smirk changed to an actual smile. "I didn't say that was a bad thing, my love." Elia's ire lasted as much as she figured, mirroring Lyanna's smile. "Gods know that I'd be as anxious if you were expecting."

_Fat chance of that happening._ Putting aside the sad thought, the Dornish Queen turned back to her work. "Any news from Highgarden?"

A nod. "Janna Tyrell is now Lady Janna Peake - cements that clause of Rhaegar's deal with the Queen of Thornes." A few nightmares aside, both Queens wished they could have been there to hug and tend to Rhaegar after his almost legendary victory in the Trial by Seven. "House Peake begins its return to glory."

"Maekar Targaryen rolls in his grave," Elia quipped. "The knights that run the other two Peake keeps aren't going to be happy. Lord Althos tells me that they didn't march with the Hightowers after Lord Mace called the banners." They didn't hope to threaten Starfall without more, but it was still a worry. Elia moved on. "The Rogares said they'd offer Rhaegar a loan, if at a high rate of interest."

Lyanna frowned. "Those cunts didn't hurt our House enough when Larra abandoned Viserys?"

"At least they're accepting our loan, not like the Iron Bank." Letters to the various banking families of Essos were generally rebuffed, most willing to stick with Aerys and the erratic but general stability his reign offered. "Part of me suspects they just want House Targaryen to die."

"Only part?" Lyanna was more convinced. "Westeros needs its own bank. The Dragon Bank or something… I'd even have Lord Tywin send one of his brothers run it - he knows his salt when it comes to coin."

"If your father had his way, then the dwarf could likely do it." Only then did Elia realize what she said, given the sudden pain on Lyanna's face. "Oh, my love…"

Thinking about her father… about her brother… The wound was still raw - even with Elia, the children, Ashara, Dacey, and the new babe lifting her spirits. Only her husband's absence truly hurt her more. "I… I'm fine," she tried to deflect, but it was an obvious lie.

But Elia didn't buy it. Rising from her feet and urging Lya to stand, hugging her close. "I know you're in pain, Lya. I love you, don't hide anything from me."

Lyanna lost herself in the embrace, letting her face bury itself in the crook of Elia's neck. Smelling the scent of flowers, Dornish apple to be exact - she had grown to adore the fragrance as much as winter roses. I_t is her favorite._ Gently, she nuzzled Elia's skin, smiling at her sigh of contentment. Feeling her soft hand rest on her growing swell. If she were the Rhaenyra to her own Prince Daemon, perhaps Lyanna had gotten Laena Velaryon as well.

_Lucky, lucky me…_

_'She's using you…'_

Stiffening, Lyanna heard the voice - the same one that tried to poison her when she found out about Jon.

_'Your father and brother would be ashamed at your wantonness…'_

"My love?" Her heart started to beat fast. "Lya?"

A gentle kiss to her cheek brought Lyanna away from the voice. Back to the present where honey-brown eyes gazed into hers. "Is everything alright?"

Trying to calm herself, Lyanna put on a smile. "Yes, I'm fine." The she-wolf felt her mind clearer, back to the certainty of her feelings. Without hesitation Lyanna pressed a sweet kiss to Elia's lips. Enjoying how the Dornish beauty moaned into it. "All of this… thank you."

Elia was still a bit dazed from the kiss. "Why are you thanking me?" she asked innocently.

That look stirred up prurient thoughts in Lyanna. Ones she still sometimes took time getting used to. "Being here. Comforting me as our husband is at war - away from us."

Melting at the sweet words, Elia cupped her sister-wife's cheek. The woman she had shockingly but happily fallen head over heels for. "There's no need, because I love you… and you do the same for me." Caressing the swell of their babe, they shared another wordless moment before Elia had a thought. "Come, let's go see the children." How Lyanna's grey eyes sparkled at that filled her with a rare joy.

The second largest of the guest chambers in Starfall had been converted into a nursery for the Targaryen children - currently being watched over by their Kingsguard uncle and Lady Ashara. Rhaenys racing around with a sliver of wood, attempting to be Nymeria as she engaged Benjen while the infant Egg cheered her from his crib with babbling praise. It was a beautiful sight for the Queens as they peered into the room.

It didn't take long for the perceptive Princess to notice the new arrivals._ "Muna!"_ She raced over and throwing her arms around them. "Hello, _munas."_ Wriggling out of Elia's hold, she hugged Lyanna. Kissing the little swell. "Hello, little brudder." The love in her voice made Lya hug her tighter as Elia moved to lavish love on Egg.

Behind, Benjen chuckled. "How do you know it's a Prince, niece?" Unlike Ned, there was no awkwardness in adopting Elia's brood into his affections. _How can anyone not love them?_

She looked at her wolf uncle with the same imperious certainty as Rhaegar was wont to do. "I'm a dragon. I know."

"She has a point, Ben," Ashara remarked rather friendly, stepping forward to place a hand on his shoulder. Not going unnoticed by Lyanna. "These Targaryens, they are unlike you or I."

"And I have the blood of the Starks, as ancient and noble a bloodline as any Valyrian," he replied haughtily, but while Tywin Lannister or Olenna Tyrell could pull it off, Ashara laughed at how silly he sounded.

Lyanna laughed as well, until Rhae pulled on her skirts. "_Muna,_ I'm hungry."

"You broke your fast a few hours ago, sweetling." But the wide-eyed plea and quivering lip simply melted her. "Alright, dear." Lyanna looked at Elia cooing their son, realizing she hadn't had quality time with Egg yet. "Ash, do you mind…"

The Beauty of Starfall thought nothing of it. "I'll take you to the kitchens. See if Wylla has some sweetmeats for you till dinner." A hug and a kiss from each of her mothers found the excited Princess bounding off, while neither Queen missed how Benjen's fingers brushed on Ashara's waist and how the young maiden giggled softly. _Seems it isn't just Arthur, then._

"Tell me, brother," Lyanna asked point blank as she moved to her son. "Have you coupled with Ash?"

His eyes went wide. "What? No…"

Elia handed Egg to Lya, laughing as he babbled happily at her. "It is rather obvious, Ben. I've seen less lascivious looks in a Lysene pleasure house." She became aware of a jealous glare from Lyanna. "My brother dragged me into one," Elia defended.

Benjen sighed. "Ashara… few men could resist falling in love with her. Much less when she falls for you."

Lyanna laughed. "Hear that Egg?" she cooed at her son. "Your uncle is in love. Do you like that."

He peered at her with his father's violet eyes. _"Muh… muna."_ Egg looked at Elia. _"Muna."_

_His first words…_ The little joys were what kept them all alive during the hells of war.

* * *

"This is an outrage!" Willam Mooton hollered, banging his fists against the table overlooking he Lord's seat. "We must retake the keeps immediately from those shits that pillage and burn the Riverlands."

"And what forces do you wish to do that with, Lord Ham?" Jonos Bracken sneered, the martial jouster drawing attention to Ser Myles' brother's already considerable girth. The two of them were nothing alike, almost like Daemon and Viserys Targaryen - one a strong warrior, the other a merry lover of revelry. "Aerys outnumbers us, and that's with Lord Robert and Lord Mace closer to us than the damned northerners."

Speaking for the northern contingent, Rickard Karstark sent a death glare at Lord Bracken. "Damned northerners?! Says a lot of a family that prostituted its daughters to a fat oaf of a King!"

"My Lords, please," Hoster rose before Jonos could draw his sword. "Let us calm ourselves…" Rhaegar simply eyed Oswell beside him, his resident expert on everything Riverman. Oswell simply shrugged. "We can reach a proper accord to all of this."

"No, we must attack now!" demanded Ser Myles - in full armor and fresh off being on the victorious side of a trial by seven, he was a far greater presence than his soft brother. "Harrenhal is ruled by fucking Boros the Belly! The Darrys openly defy our Leige's orders. This cannot be allowed to stand!"

Hoster was a good man, but he simply looked over his head. Face flushed and struggling to maintain some level of authority. "Lord Darry has been stripped of his keep by my directive. He will meet his proper end as will Lord Boros." Beside him, Ser Brynden Tully, his brother, rolled his eyes. The man was of few words and wasn't about to leap into the coming madhouse.

His instincts were correct. "The keep must be given to my younger son," announced Tytos Blackwood. "As his Grace's longtime friend, I can safely say that no House has been more loyal to House Targaryen than ours."

"My ass," snarled Lord Bracken. The feud between the two houses was legendary.

"House Piper deserves the keep!"

"You're a bunch of drunks - it rightfully belongs to House Mallister."

"The only proper man that deserves it is Ser Brynden the Blackfish!" a knight sworn to House Tully announced, only to be silenced with a glare from the Blackfish.

And so the bickering continued, each of the Riverlords more eager to try and one up the other than unite. Hoster Tully did his best to wrangle them up, but Rhaegar could tell the man would not be able to. Aegon the Conqueror had elevated the Tullys out of loyalty, but it was obvious that they had the least power of all the great houses.

For fuck's sake… "We will attack immediately," he finally ground out - all voices falling silent as the King-claimant spoke. "This bickering can wait until after Harrenhal falls, which we will make happen upon the morrow." He waited for the first to complain.

That person turned out to be Lord Hoster of all people. "We are outnumbered by the forces of the Crownlands. If they fortify Harrenhal…"

"None of those fucks are close to Harrenhal." Eyes turned to Ser Bronn, idly using a knife to pick his nails. "I scouted that land myself. A rather chatty hedge knight in Connington's employ told me that Lord Chelsted moved his army closer to the capitol to wait for our move."

"They means to ambush us," murmured Lord Mallister.

"Yet they'll be reinforced rather quickly if Lord Robert gets his bannermen there," growled the Blackfish. "His Grace is right, we must strike now."

Appreciating Brynden Tully's support - and noticing a gleam of jealousy in Hoster's eyes - Rhaegar looked back out over the Riverlords. "We will advance and besiege Harrenhal while the Belly is still preparing it. Then we wait for Chelsted."

"And who will command this?" Jonos Bracken demanded.

He and his Kingsguards had already determined this. "Ser Brynden commands half the infantry, while Ser Myles and Lord Blackwood gets the cavalry and the remaining infantry. Ser Alliser will command the siege." A look to the new commander of the Household Guard found him nodding in approval - accepting the commission. "As for the northmen and men-at-arms in my employ," over five hundred assorted hedge knights and wannabe sellswords had simply joined Rhaegar, eager to fight for him. "Lord Reed will command them."

Howland, silent through it all, blinked. "Me, your Grace?" Lord Karstark seemed affronted, but said nothing.

"You know how to bushwhack and raid. We will need that."

The moment he shut the door behind him, the ruckus resumed within the great hall. Likely back to squabbling over who would get the Darry lands once all was said and done once more. "I should give the keep to Ser Myles and be done with it," Rhaegar breathed, heart heavy. Myles was the second son of his father, and thus was behind his brother Willam's brood of children in succession. "Wasn't he fond of your niece?"

Lips tight, Oswell nodded. "Mya, the fair maid. I think she was likely to be betrothed to him if my brother was to be believed." He shrugged. "She and I, the last of the Whents."

"Gods, Oswell…" In his own frustration at the lack of control Hoster had over his bannermen, Rhaegar had forgotten about Oswell's personal connection to the atrocities. "Forgive me my lack of compassion…"

"No, it's alright, your Grace." The knight would spare no more tears while this war was raging. "As long as I get to lop off the head of Boros Blount, Willis Wode, and Qarlton Chelsted, I shall endure."

Rhaegar found nothing problematic with the request. "Done." They began to head towards the guest quarters of the ancient keep. "You would be heir to Harrenhal without the cloak. If you wish I can relieve you of your vows."

Oswell shook his head. "As did Lord Commander Hoare centuries ago, I swore my vow to the true King knowing this may happen. I shall not abandon you, my King." His voice resounded with loyalty and determination. "Besides, that damned keep is cursed. Mya can rule Darry with Myles, give the fucking thing to some other poor bastard."

"If you say so." To think, if the squabbling over Darry was intense, Rhaegar shuddered to think what chaos the ownership of Harrenhal would create. Seeing Gerold approaching him, hopefully the Lord Commander would have some matter to preoccupy his mind from brooding.

"Your Grace," bowed Ser Gerold. "There is someone who wishes a moment for your audience."

For the first time, Rhaegar noticed the tall, stern figure of a knight beside Ser Gerold. "Follow me." The King-Claimant led the others to an unoccupied chambers - what looked to be a storage closet. _How… quaint._ "Forgive me, but these things are best done in private."

"There is no need, your Grace." The thin knight took to his knee. "Allow me to introduce myself as Ser Bonifer of House Hasty, and I am honored to swear my sword to the true champion of the Seven."

Perhaps it was instinct, or perhaps Lyanna was rubbing off on him, but Rhaegar felt a bit perturbed at the open display of piety in the Faith. Nevertheless, the man seemed sincere. "Heard about the trial at Highgarden, I presume."

Ser Bonifer looked up and nodded. "The fools of the Most Devout and the High Septon may be too corrupt to accept such messages of the gods, but the solemnity of a Trial by Seven is sacrosanct - more than a simple trial by combat or any middling tourney. There is no doubt who carries their favor, and he shall carry mine."

Smiling at the praise, still Rhaegar glanced at Ser Gerold - silent question obvious on his face. _'Why bring him here?'_ The Lord Commander didn't hesitate in answering. "Ser Bonifer is the founder and Captain of the Holy Hundred."

That did catch Rhaegar's interest. "The force that helped Ser Arthur Dayne defeat the Kingswood brotherhood?" From what Arthur told him, they fought smartly and professionally."

Rising, Bonifer smiled modestly. "The name is a bit of a misnomer - more around two hundred-fifty men as of now. Where my sword is pledged, so too are their swords pledged."

Extending his hand, Rhaegar clasped Bonifer's firmly. The man's hands were lean but strong - a proper warrior. "Where are you from, Ser Bonifer. I must confess that I do not know of House Hasty."

The knight didn't seem to take offense. "We are a small house of Landed Knights from around Summerhall, your Grace. My brother is the master of the manor, I am simply a sword sworn to the Seven and to House Targaryen."

"Not Lord Robert?" Rhaegar was wary of most Stormlanders these days, mostly due to his documented struggles with Robert and Connington. "I must ask…"

"I knew your mother, my King." That Rhaegar didn't expect. "She was a Princess then, and inspired the greatest loyalty in all proper knights of the Seven. Her piety, her grace, her kindness." There was something on his face, though. Something beyond mere loyalty and admiration. "From what I have seen, you are her son in every respect. The Warrior has noticed and showered you with his blessing. No one else is worthy of my sword."

"Well… I am glad to have your loyalty, Ser Bonifer. Move your men into my camp and they shall be part of the advance on Harrenhal."

Bowing, the knight seemed to have some other thing on his mind. "Your Grace… has the Queen ever spoken of me before?"

Rhaegar furrowed his brows. "Ser Arthur has, but I do not recall my mother ever mentioning your name."

He watched as a flicker of grief formed in Bonifer's eye. "Such is no issue. To the battles that come." He bowed once more and left.

"Why would he feel my mother would mention him?" Rhaegar asked Ser Gerold.

"I do recall a knight crowning Princess Rhaella the Queen of Love and Beauty during a tourney at Storm's End," Gerold mused. "That could have been Ser Bonifer."

"Hmmm… odd." A curiosity without necessity. Rhaegar put it out of his mind.

* * *

"It truly is a magnificent sight, isn't it?" Ned tried to prevent his nose from wrinkling - or simply shriveling into a husk - from the stench of Walder Frey's breath. He was surprised the old man still had any teeth left… forgetting that he still was able to sire more children both trueborn and bastard at his advanced age. "Troops marching across my bridge. Odd, it's one of the biggest bridges in Westeros according to my Maester, but your columns seem to make it look puny."

"The mind plays tricks on us sometimes, my Lord," he replied, eying him warily. Gods, for the times where all he had to worry about was if Lya would like Robert - all was so… innocent then.

A snort from the Lord of the Twins. "Sometimes I think I'm the only one 'ere capable of thinkin'." Sniffling, he suddenly spat out from the balcony of his keep. The sliver of snot and spit landed upon a random bannerman's head, causing Walder to laugh. "Stupid cunt."

_Every man that passes beneath the gates of the Crossing must pay their toll to Walder Frey._ Something Catelyn told him before he left Winterfell, surprisingly a good piece of foresight. _The more drastic your situation, the higher the toll._ Ned hesitated to ask what his toll would be - regardless of House Tully's order to back Rhaegar, Walder would get what he wanted. "Have your banners been called?" he ended up asking.

"I sent the orders… but the smallfolk here are a prickly lot. Might take some time," Walder replied.

"Quite." His experiences and hard truths had wisened Ned up a bit, casting aside the blatant naivete he acknowledged he once had. Walder's statement was horseshit - especially with the 'but' thrown in the middle. "The other Riverlords have already gathered at Riverrun. With Harrenhal captured, when can we expect you?"

Walder looked at him, smiling with a mouth of almost rotted teeth. "Do not worry, my sons will lead our bannermen into battle alongside his Grace very soon." Ned highly doubted that, but he had no evidence to push it further. "About your toll…"

Ned's brows rose. "We're prepared to pay your normal rate."

"That could be a problem." The quiet wolf steeled himself. "Given the times we are in, I must increase the normal toll rate by half… and be paid in specie, though I will take wheat or barley if you have it."

Inwardly, Ned was shocked. _That's it? More gold or silver? "_We can work with that." Over a century of not getting involved in the South had left the Northern treasuries rather full.

Nodding, Walder chuckled. "Good doing business with you, Lord Stark. Please inform the true King of my generosity and commitment to his cause when you see him next."

No sooner had the Lord of the Twins disappeared into his feted keep did another unwelcome face sidle up to Ned. "So what did old Walder want? Betrothal? Land?" Sinister as Roose Bolton was to people that knew better, Ned couldn't fault him on his knack for the game.

Ned shook his head. "He wants double the normal toll. No more, no less."

Raising an eyebrow, the Leech Lord shook his head. "He has something up his sleeve."

"You think?" Ned would much rather discuss this with someone he didn't have to scrutinize every spoken word for duplicity, but with Jorah and Howland gone Bolton was his only choice. "Probably looking to ingratiate himself with Rhaegar. He is smart, knowing Rhaegar is likely to win."

"More than that, young Stark." A subtle put-down, though the milky eyes wouldn't give away anything. "Walder desires to increase his influence, and given his… personality it is usually through silver and betrothals. Either he's banking a favor or he has something on House Stark or the North already."

Saying nothing, Ned's gaze flickered back to the marching soldiers. Banners of Houses Stark and Tallhart fluttering in the breeze behind a twin column of supply wagons. Bolton could end up being right on both counts… or he himself could be right. But the soldiers were getting through without incident, and if Aerys' advisers didn't think the North was coming then they'd be idiots. "Whatever it is, he won't expose it. We've gotten what we want, and that's what matters right now."

Roose nodded. "Of course, my Lord." He knew when to speak and when to shut up.

Another set of boots found Rodrik Cassel interrupting his Liege Lord's discussion. "Forgive me, Lord Stark, but a raven from the Lady Catelyn arrived from Winterfell."

Sighing, Ned took the rolled up sheaf of parchment. Scanning the well-transcribed calligraphy of his bride.

_Dearest husband,_

_Rejoice, for the Mother has blessed my womb with a child. A strong pup of House Stark to continue your line. I have suffered the malady for several weeks and Maester Luwin confirmed the babe inside me only hours before my writing this._

_I shall say a prayer to the Father and Warrior for a strong son and heir to Winterfell, and leave an offering to ward off the Stranger. Gods be praised, Ned, and hopefully you shall return before I give birth._

_Lady Catelyn Stark_

_Your most devoted wife._

Trembling slightly, Ned almost dropped the letter. Mind a whirring gale of different emotions… all of them a mix of worry and joy. "My Lord… is something the matter?" Ser Rodrik looked worried, while Roose merely observed him as if studying a map.

A small smile formed on Ned's face - fingers clutching his chin pensively. "I am to be a father." The smile widened. Regardless of his feelings for Catelyn, this was a moment to celebrate. "My lady wife is with child." _I only wish Bran and father were alive to see this…_

Roose smiled as well, though unlike Ser Rodrik's it didn't reach his eyes. "Congratulations, my Lord. May the newest pup be born healthy and strong." _And be as much a septa as her idiot mother._ Oh, Roose would leave an offering at the Weirwood tree for his liege's child to be a female southerner. "Congratulations indeed."

* * *

A warm spell had descended over the lower Riverlands, melting whatever snowfall had accumulated and shrouding the waters of the Trident in a dense fog. Glancing out the window, Rhaegar couldn't even see across the river. The steady stucco of marching boots confirmed the world existed outside, and that his orders were carried out.

For now, he finally had time to himself. A moment to breathe… and it destroyed him.

_Rhaegar… Rhaegar…_ Muscles tightened under his loose tunic, leaning hard against the stone wall with his arms stretched high above. _Remember… Remember…_

"What do you want?" He turned suddenly, staring at the green egg nestled in a chest - just as his father had. Rhaegar felt like a fool, yelling at a sphere of stone, but the words were loud in his head. Calling to him.

_Rhaegar… Rhaegar…_

A knock broke the trance, Rhaegar blinking and looking up. "Come in." It revealed Ser Barristan, and behind him Lady Melisandre. "Ah, good."

"You summoned me, my King?" the beautiful red priestess asked, curtseying while never taking her red eyes off him.

"Yes. I need your help." He pointed to the egg, walking to stand before it. "This egg is speaking to me and I want to know why." _Gods… why not just say you're becoming your father._

Barristan looked upon him with a worried glint, but Melisandre only walked towards Rhaegar. Her eyes alight and a smile of awe on her face. "It speaks to you? What does it say?"

Closing his eyes, Rhaegar picked up the egg. Immediately feeling the warmth - like an ember of a long died out fire, pulsing with residual heat. Smoke and boiling water swirling inside. _Rhaegar… Rhaegar… Remember… Remember your blood…_

Before he could speak the Red Woman took it from him. "Dragonlords of old… they often said their dragons could speak to them - even from within the egg."

"The egg is stone. Long dead." Rhaegar remembered the tales of the Tragedy at Summerhall. How his grandfather had killed most of his family by trying to rouse eggs of stone to life. "There is no life within it."

"Then why do you feel the heat?"

Blinking, the King-claimant stood stunned for several moments. "How…" Was it all in his head… if so, how did she guess? "Ser Barristan, hold this stone. Tell me if you feel any heat or sign of life." The knight nodded and took the egg from Melisandre - even pressing his cheek against the scales. Rhaegar waited with baited breath, watching every motion on Barristan's face, however small. "Well? Do you feel it?"

Peering at the egg, Barristan finally gave up. "I'm sorry, your Grace. This egg is nothing but stone." He removed his hands from the green scales. "I wouldn't be surprised if this egg was laid before the Conquest."

Staring at Barristan for a moment, Rhaegar shifted back to the eggs. _Rhaegar… Rhaegar… remember your blood… remember your fire…_ "You have my leave to go," he told the both of them - waiting until they both left the room. Placing his hand on the scales, they were still warm to the touch. A shiver of something within.

_Remember your blood…_

* * *

Many within the great throne room struggled to hide their distaste and discomfort, gathered by order of his Grace. Whether the pungent smell of wildfire, the mad glint in their King's eyes, or one of their own strung up upon a stake while the pyromancers smeared his legs and the fetters with the viscous green glow, all was unpleasant but something they had all allowed themselves to be a part of.

None of them would be as foolish as the Lord of Claw Isle.

"Ardrian Celtigar," announced Master of Laws Owen Merryweather. "You are hereby declared guilty for the crimes of treason and taking up arms against your King. Do you have any words before the sentence is passed."

A sour old man, Lord Ardrian's faded lavender eyes fell upon the King he had betrayed. "I've seen your grandfather and father rule before you in my lifetime, and they were proper Kings. Your brother was a proper King to be. You're simply pathetic." He cracked a smile at the anger growing in the King's fallen face. "My son will fight with Rhaegar, and before the sun makes a full turn you will be dead upon this floor."

"ENOUGH!" Aerys roared, standing from the Iron Throne. "Burn him!" A single spark billowed out a cloud of heat only moments later, green fire consuming Lord Ardrian in its malevolent tongues of flame. Even the most hardened of men cringed as even the tough Celtigar screamed in agony.

All but Aerys, that is.

Unfortunately, his good mood was destroyed by a bit of news courtesy of his Hand. "What?!"

"It is true, your Grace. The rebel army of Rivermen and some Northmen have besieged Harrenhal. Lord Boros has withdrawn into the castle but is low on supplies."

"Seven fucking hells, do I have Lords or a bunch of idiots?!" Aerys would not let this stand. "Harrenhal will be relieved by force of arms."

"But, my King," spoke Lord Wallace Massey of Stonedance, a senior commander of the Crownlands army. "Shouldn't we wait for at least Lord Robert's forces to arrive?"

Incredulous, a jerk of his fingers found Lord Massey seized by three household guardsmen - the man bewildered and fearful. "He is no son of mine, fucking cunt!" Spittle flew from Aerys' lips as he snarled. "Take him to the black cells. I'll have his corpse join the pile of ashes on the morrow."

The guardsmen complied, their captive screaming at the King. "Please! Mercy, your Grace!" Wallace Massey's pleas were unheeded, the young man essentially condemned to death already. No one in the throne room bothered to speak in his favor.

Still fuming, the King seemed to go red with rage. "I will not have my rule disrespected!" He slammed his fist on the armrest of the Iron throne, only to cry out in pain at one of the sword-tips slicing a two inch cut on his hand. "I will not let that ungrateful little shit disrespect me and take away my victories!" Aerys gripped his hand, the stinging pain and sticky blood only building his anger. "Chelsted!"

Hearing his name, the Master of War almost tripped as he raced to the side of the King. "Yes, your Grace?"

"Take your army to Harrenhal and break the siege…" Aerys thought for a moment. "And bring me Rhaegar's head."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aerys has given his command, so chelsted needs to make it happen.
> 
> gotta love Targling fluff.
> 
> Ser Bonifer... Rhaella's former squeeze. Wonder how he could crimp Jaime's style XD
> 
> Robert is still an ass, while Walder Frey is still sneaky as hell.
> 
> Sansa's coming.
> 
> Next up, the First Battle of Harrenhal. If I get 35 reviews, I'll update on Saturday.


	48. First Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. Big battle chapter up!
> 
> Little note, I received a comment a week ago that had sloganeering in regards to modern politics. Please guys, let's save the comments for discussing the story, Game of Thrones in general, or history/literature to compare to GoT. Nondivisive subjects as Kit and Emilia pioneer, cause I think of this story and the comments as a safe space for the fandom to enjoy stories and fix things those two assholes ruined. Thank you :D
> 
> Awesome stuff: I have just started a collaborative project called The Targaryen Dynasty with BlackRose999. It is an interesting take on post-The Bells Targ restoration.
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

_Lord Boros,_

_I invite you to watch as your besiegers become the besieged. That the traitorous prince find himself and his army of trout-fuckers are annihilated by the noble men of the Crownlands and House Darry. Sit upon the walls of Harrenhal and celebrate the coming victory._

_Qarlton Chelsted_

_Master of War_

Crumpling the piece of paper in his fist, Rhaegar Targaryen took a glance at the battlements of Harrenhal before turning back to his war council. "Well, my Lords. Do you doubt me when I say that Lord Chelsted's one of the most craven, ridiculous men that my father could select?"

A chorus of chuckles left the lips of the assembled Lords, reflecting on Rhaegar's accurate assessment. "He may be a bit conventional in his thinking, but he's a brawler as his sigil suggests," stated Aarrax Celtigar, recently arrived with hundreds of men-at-arms to fight for the man he once squired for.

"A mace and sword," scoffed Rickard Karstark. "Probably thinks it's terrifyin'. Now a dragon or a wolf or a Bolton flayed corpse, that strikes fear. A mace is fuckin' juvenile." Leave it to the Northerners to be blunt.

Peeking out the vision slits of the hastily constructed siege works that Thorne and the Blackfish erected around Harrenhal, Rhaegar watched the pockets of the enemy camp several miles to the southeast. "Lord Reed, did you find the layout of their camp?"

Howland nodded, Crannogmen serving as the army's scouts. "Nestled against the shore of the God's Eye for easy access to water. Looks like they're refitting after a forced march."

"Any contact with Chelsted's scouts?" asked the Blackfish gruffly. It became apparent that he talked to everyone this way, so Rhaegar didn't take it personally.

"Yes." Howland gave a tiny smirk, unlike him. "Granted my men didn't let them live to tell any tales." Rhaegar approved, though most of the other Rivermen huffed in distaste. Considering the dozens of 'scalps' collected of Chelsted's pickets, a tradition since the Andal invasion, the crannogmen weren't popular among most apart from the Blackwood levies.

Rhaegar approved, even against who moons ago had been his own bannermen._ If they're afraid, they'll break sooner._ "Do they outnumber us?" he demanded.

"About twenty-three or so thousand against our eighteen."

"I've faced worse odds than that," scoffed Bronn nonchalantly, chewing on a scrap of dried pork. If the crannogmen were of ill repute, Bronn was outright hated.

Ser Bonifer Hasty hated him most of all, considering him a disgrace to the knighthood. "We'll have less due to maintaining the siegeworks." The pious knight may have hated Bronn, but he was right.

"Means I'll have to fight harder," Bronn shrugged.

"Chelsted's an idiot," grumbled Ser Gerold, looking at the map laid out before them. "He should have attacked immediately but instead he's sticking to convention. Resting his forces before he attacks in a few days in coordination with Boros the Belly within the keep."

Brynden Tully scowled. "Say what you want about that pig Robert Baratheon." Few in the command tent could stand him - least of all Rhaegar. "He would have been bullheadedly aggressive in just the right fashion. Now… we have the advantage to attack."

"Sally forth now? And expose us to envelopment from the rear?" Lord Bracken warned.

Rhaegar shook his head. "Ser Alliser will hold the siegeworks with my Household Guard." A fool like Boros the Belly, the hardened guardsmen would make him piss himself to challenge. "That will protect our rear and serve to annihilate any force that Blount can send out."

Ser Barristan pressed his chin in worry. "And another thousand men taken away from the main battle."

"Not if we divide their forces," remarked he Blackfish. "But how? An idiot like Chelsted will keep his men together if all other things are equal."

Pursing his lips, Rhaegar studied the map. Remembered all war lessons he had learned, all the battles across the history texts lectured into him by his teachers - of the way all armies acted. _Could be…_ "My whispers indicate that Chelsted left King's Landing ten days ago." Technically it was Lord Varys' whispers, but Rhaegar was not about to out his spy in the capitol. "They can't have taken a large wagon train with them, considering rains hit the land around Rosby and Stokeworth." The men would have to travel with light rations.

Oswell, having grown up in these lands and with a personal motivation to defeat Chelsted, seemed to catch on. "They will need to forage, then." He pointed on the crude map. "In these woods of game and these farmlands to the north, away from our cavalry patrols. I would think he'd send significant numbers of men to conduct the foraging."

"They are," clarified Howland. "I'd think hundreds, guarded by men of House Massey."

"My father executed the late Lord Massey several weeks ago." Rhaegar's jaw set in hard brooding. "Ser Bonifer, can your men march quietly?"

The pious knight blinked, not expecting his King to address him. "I believe so, your Grace. We will conduct ourselves in whatever manner the Seven's Chosen asks of us."

Rhaegar smirked. "Good, then you and Ser Bronn will need to get along." He had a perverse sense of enjoyment at how both of them blustered.

"I still think your plan is shite," Oswell added after the strategy meeting, the two of them strolling along the siegeworks. "Dividing our forces of some of our best men? It's asking for trouble."

Keeping his head low, nevertheless an arrow often smacked against the wood staves - his own archers and crossbowmen returning fire at the Blount bannermen manning the Harrenhal battlements. "Boldness is what wins, Oswell, not complacency..."

He was suddenly pushed down just as a crossbow bolt sailed just where his shoulder had been. Barbed tip embedding in the roughly cut wood. "Careful, your Grace." Oswell eyed the stained cloak and armor of his King. "Better mud on your cloak than two brides and three children without a husband and father."

Breathing deeply, Rhaegar nodded. "Fuck, thank you, Oswell." The two of them essentially half crawled, half crouched to a safer set of siegeworks two dozen yards beyond. "I need to take the initiative, he finally said once they were reasonably safe."

"I want to kill Boros and Chelsted more than anyone, but can't you wait till at least Ned Stark or Elbert Arryn arrive?"

"And Robert Baratheon and Mace Tyrell will arrive as well. If I wish to strike it will need to be now, and against a plodding, predictable enemy, boldness is what will win." He raised an eyebrow. "Do you trust me, Oswell."

The Kingsguard bowed. "I trust you, your Grace. Just be careful. I won't go back to your Queens saying that I failed to save their King." Without another word he moved to stand guard outside the entranceway, his armor generic and not signalling he was anyone special - best in case some marksman decided to use a longbow to end Rhaegar's life.

Withdrawing back to his own tent - damp and chilly, but his - Rhaegar's eyes shifted to the letter on a rickety camp desk. One he had hesitated to open since the day before out of… fear? Apprehension? Just the fact that another family member may have been lost, but if he didn't look he didn't have to know about it? _You're stronger than this._ Sighing, Rhaegar broke the seal of the Night's Watch and unfurled the letter.

Only for him to smile in relief.

_Dearest Nephew,_

_You have endured the same grief as your mother, as your uncles and aunts and grandparents before you. And now, you face the agony of being on the cusp of the title of kinslayer. Gods… I prayed you would not suffer from this. I suppose they weren't heard._

_However, you cannot ever allow yourself to think you are pursuing an evil cause. As a King, you will need to conduct yourself in ways that seem as if you are tearing yourself limb from limb, but such is the duty of our birthright. You are a dragon, Rhaegar. Show your babes what our family is capable of and be a dragon._

_Uncle Aemon_

Holding the letter to his breast, Rhaegar took a deep breath. Seeking to calm his emotions, he instead felt as if a fire was being stoked inside him. As if a mighty forge heating to intense

temperatures. Wordlessly, he walked to a chest in the room - picking up Blackfyre and gripping it tightly in his hand. Opening the chest and removing the green egg from where it was tucked. Relishing in its warmth.

_Be a dragon._

* * *

Twig snapping behind him, Howland swiveled around, knife held at throat level. A silent warning to the hedge knight behind him. _Do that again and I'll slit your throat._ The knight paled and seemed to get the message. Normally so soft spoken and withdrawn, once in battle the crannogman lord was ruthless… as were his men.

That made them Bronn's sort of people - especially as they crept silently through the forests north of Harrenhal. Moonlight partially blocked by the spindly canopy of wintertime, the caw of owls and bats predominated the din. Giving them pretty good cover. "You sure they come this way?" he hissed softly. Bronn adjusted his position in the dirt. Just because he grew up in a forest hovel didn't mean he enjoyed the persistent itching.

"Aye," replied Howland, just as soft. "Along that road right there." A dirt track sunken into the ground provided quite the break in the treeline, Crannogmen and Holy Hundreds taking positions within the hills and bluffs scouted out previously by Howland and his best trackers.

Running over in a low crouch, the armored form of Bonifer Hasty managed not to make too much noise. Placing thick wool underneath what mail armor he was allowed to wear sure muffled the noises. "My men are in position for your… plan," he ground out. Bronn smirked, remembering the quick parlay hours before.

_"How many men will we be expecting?" Ser Bonifer asked once Howland repeated what he told Bronn._

_Howland sheathed his dagger, not seeing any danger around him. "About a thousand… banners of lambs and… a star of circles." The details were ones he committed to memory the morning before._

_"Stokeworth and Sunglass, along with the five hundred Masseys waiting at the edge of the forest."_

_"Massey? The asshole son of the asshole who was killed?" Bronn did not mince words._

_"Aye." Howland grinned, looking sinister in the moonlight. "Think he'll turn?"_

_The captain of the Holy Hundred pushed ahead with the planning. "So they'll march down the road, you said? From where?"_

_"Farmland north of hear, on the approach to Lord Harroway's Town. Foragers will trickle in through the night and then assemble at dawn…" He pointed to a clearing that led out towards the God's Eye and Chelsted's camp. "Right over there. That's where they organize their supplies to bring to Chelsted. Along with where Massey and his men wait."_

_He stroked the thin beard at his chin. "We can call forward Lord Karstark and Lord Celtigar. Once they assemble we attack."_

_"Fuck that," Bronn whispered, glaring. "I say we hit the fuckin' lamb boys right on the road. Wipe em out before anyone can notice."_

_Bonifer wrinkled his nose. "Ambush and banditry is not the way of the Warrior. We must meet him on open ground or my men won't see their fighting spirit maximize."_

_Grunting, Bronn pointed towards the enemy camp. "They outnumber us. I'm gonna pull every fuckin' trick in the book to fuck up those cunts." But… he would have to learn some discipline. "Lord Reed is in command, it's his go."_

_Howland didn't need much time. "We ambush them." Bronn grinned while Bonifer scowled…_

Just as he scowled now, but the knight wore some acceptance. "Where are the Karstarks?"

"They're in position," Howland whispered. "When we give the signal, they and Arryax Celtigar will charge." At a loud clacking followed by laughter, the battle senses of the men took over. "Positions, now."

The Stokeworth and Sunglass foragers were in a merry mood for being out overnight, well-loaded with supplies and personal booty from looting the prosperous farmers once sworn to House Whent. A few men were lucky and found a maiden to… sample - hells, an older farmwife worked just as well. Hence the jolly mood as they marched down the sunken road with their haul.

Too lured into complacency by two nights of essentially complete latitude to forage, as they drew close to the assembly point a massive chorus of wolf-howls echoed through the trees. Out of the darkness to the west charged the hidden crannogmen and men-at-arms. Suddenly setting upon the foraging parties with knives, swords, and axes. Attempts to form battle lines lasted but minutes as what had been a skirmish developed into all out slaughter, close quarters and the strung out column negating any advantage their discipline and superior weaponry gave.

Chaos and butchery by the feared Crannogmen unable to ignore, the well-formed Massey swords advanced into the forest, preparing to rescue their Crownlands comrades. But before they could reach the afflicted supply train the horn was blown and the thousand Celtigar bannermen erupted from their staging position in the woods. The charge both smashed into the center of the Masseys while the flanks maneuvered wide to double envelop their foes.

Lord Justin Massey, son of the Lord killed by Aerys for a mere slight, had enough. In mere moments, what had been a close to annihilated force now embraced their Celtigar comrades. Swords held high as they defected to Rhaegar's cause, not willing to fight for the Mad King. Such doomed the foragers, while no one noticed the Karstark horse wheeling far north of the battlefield, sticking to tree cover.

"Why haven't you advanced yet?!" Demanded Ser Jonothor Darry, having just arrived at the camp of the Royal Army of the Crownlands. "Are you addled or just an idiot?"

"I resent your implication, Ser Jonothor," Qarltom Chelsted scowled, crossing his arms. "I understand Lord Connington wishes you to command your House's men into the fray, and you'll be leading the vanguard upon the attack at noon today."

_Gods spare me from such fools._ Though still dark, the first tendrils of daylight poked over the eastern horizon. "You should have attacked already! At least form up the troops now and assault the siege lines?"

Chelsted seemed perturbed. "And have my men freeze their stones off? They will fight at the best time for victory." He chuckled, besides, Rhaegar would be a fool to attack now. Outnumbered and outmatched. No, he will stay on the defensive."

However, he would be forced to choke on his words as a rider - horse nearly panting as he urged it into the camp - approached. "My Lord! The foraging party has been attacked!"

Eyes widening, Chelsted soon grew pale. "What?! How?!"

"Rhaegar has light scouts, apparently," Jonothor shouted. "Enemy?"

"Crannogmen, Ser." The rider shook his head. "Fuckers came out of nowhere… frog people they said… they butchered us. Knights too… and Celtigar."

"What are the casualties?" Jonothor's questions were crisp and direct, unlike the bumbling Chelsted who seemed out of breath trying to parse everything.

The rider paled. "Most of the foraging party… Massey struck banners. He's with them now."

Jonothor went red. "You sent fucking Massey to guard the damn foragers?!" He swore Chelsted would be stripped of his command once reporting back to Connington… if they won the day that is.

Such a disaster seemed to spur the Master of War out of his fog. "I will not be humiliated by frog people! Ser Balman!"

"My Lord?" Sandy-blonde mustache thick and droopy, the Lord-consort in waiting of Stokeworth and the husband of the Lady Stokeworth's eldest daughter, Balman Byrch commanded his goodmother's bannermen.

"Call your banners and patch up that line. Bring me the head of Justin Massey if it's the last damn thing you do!" Byrch nodded and dashed off. "As for the rest of you, assemble the lines - we attack now!"

_Better late than never…_

Emerging from the woods about an hour later, the rebel raiding party quickly found the Stokeworth men-at-arms advancing from the loyalist camp. Banners fluttering high and led by Ser Balman on horseback. "To arms!" came the hue and cry from dozens of throats.

"Spears and shields!" ordered Bronn, taking command of the other hedge knights and wannabe sellswords attached to Rhaegar. His command, so to speak. To his right formed the Celtigars and Masseys, while to his left Bonifer Hasty guarded the flank. Behind was Howland, his swamp fighters best to avoid first contact. Already the front row of Stokeworth infantry charged across the dusky field. "Alright, you fuckin' bastards!" Bronn waves his bloodstained sword high. "For Rhaegar!"

"FOR RHAEGAR!" The rebel line charged as well.

The fronts clashed in a flurry of swords and spears, blood soon soaking the ground as the weight of the rebel numbers buckled the Stokeworths. The Holy Hundred managed to carve through the far right of the loyalists and swept inward in an envelopment, Bonifer at the van fighting like a wildcat. Bronn hacked and stabbed with sword and dagger, his men giving the opening for Howland's Crannogmen to dart through and start slaughtering among the lines.

Ser Balman had planned this, ready to attack with his second and third lines, but out of the woods to the east came a shrill battlecry. One that turned his blood to ice just as an arrow sliced through his throat. It was Rickard Karstark and his cavalry, swords waved and spears depressed as they slammed into the Stokeworths. Attacked simultaneously from the front, Howland and Bronn breaking through, the entire loyalist host buckled, routing.

With the men of Karhold sweeping like a scythe across the dark field, slaying men left and right to the cheers of the infantry, the lumbering host within the camp began to awaken. Blocks of infantry and heavy horse emerging to the field, Jaremy Rykker leading the men of Duskendale in front to face Howland's command and rescue the field.

Only the resounding boom of horns from a mile away signalled the awakening of another lumbering host. Cutting down what remained of a Stokeworth man-at-arms, Bronn laughed loudly. "Come on you silver-haired bastard!" The first rays of sun poked over the trees as he twirled his sword. "Ya' can't 'eve all of 'em to me!"

* * *

Atop Moondancer, Rhaegar stood taller than any other - seen from across the breadth of the line as he led his army out of the siegeworks and onto the field. His stallion snorted under the glare of the morning sun… as did he. "Shhh, boy, shhh," comforted the King-claimant. If he suffered then all his men did - perhaps that was what Chelsted would expect.

As he had told Oswell, now was not the time to be timid. Now was the time to be a dragon.

Around him rode the knights of the Kingsguard, left resplendent in their white cloaks and gleaming armor - swords drawn and ready to defend their King. "Chelsted's halting in place," observed Barristan.

"Indecisive," growled Gerold, itching for this to be over with.

"Smart, actually." Eyes turned to Oswell. "Black Harren chose the ground well for his keep. No hills, no ridges, just flat ground. Perfect for an offensive army. His best move is to stay put and sacrifice part of his army for the whole rather than…" As if on cue, the faint horns sent the large formations of their enemy lurching forward, banners of House Rykker marching towards Howland's flanking force while the vast majority turned to face Rhaegar's army directly. "I don't fucking believe it."

Barristan snorted. "Guess he is that much of an idiot."

Blackfyre found itself out of its sheath. Rhaegar, helm off, turned Moondancer around to address his men. Letting his silver hair blow behind him from the winds coming off the great lake. In his red and black, he looked otherworldly. "Men, I will not lie to you!" he roared. "Today will be bloody and nothing worth of songs, but we bleed today so our wives and children don't burn tomorrow!"

That drew whoops from the men. Eager soldiers seeking to avenge the slaughter of the Whents and the Mootons. From the knights of House Tully to the cavalry of House Blackwood to the heavy men-at-arms of House Mallister to the archers of House Piper, all were ready to show what the Rivermen could do. Who better to lead them to glory than the Dragon King?

"They call me the Last Dragon!" he roared again, angling his horse towards the lumbering enemy. "Well they'd be wrong. As you fight with me, we are all dragons!" Cheers followed. "BE A DRAGON!"

Horns blew at that moment. "CHARGE!" screamed lord and knight alike, the rebel army surging forward - Rhaegar at the van atop Moondancer, Blackfyre levelled at the enemy forces.

Unlike the two unwieldy blocs of tightly packed men under Chelsted, Darry commanding one and Lord Rosby the other - their commander not eager to get caught in any battle - Rhaegar increased the flexibility of his forces. They were divided into four separate commands, the Blackfish and Ser Myles Mooton at the flanks. Rhaegar personally commanded the Brackens and Mallisters in the center while Tytos Blackwood remained with the cavalry reserve, wheeling around to join Howland. Following their King, the ground between the rebels and their loyalist enemies diminished rapidly until the two armies slammed together.

"Nock!" commanded Lord Piper, remaining back with the archers. Angling their longbows back, they arced high, aiming for the center of the loyalist mass. "Loose!" Five hundred bows thwacked, projectiles sent shooting into the air like a flock of pigeons marring the cloudless sky. They sailed upward before descending on their mission of death - hitting the battlelines just as the two armies met…

For Rhaegar it passed like a blur. Spurts of red blood, flashes of sunlight gleaming off armor and steel. It was as if he charged automatically through line upon line of men, Moondancer barreling through and trampling over dozens while he swung Blackfyre at any in range. Splatters of blood upon him only barely registered… until something knocked him from Moondancer, more pained and abrupt than any tourney.

Any romantic notions of battle were wiped out in that moment.

Head ringing from beneath his helm, Rhaegar forced himself to scramble up. Eyes focusing in the thick of battle. Whatever cohesion among the front ranks of the men had disintegrated, shield, blade, and spear locked together in a furious melee. In this - none of his Kingsguards within sight - the King-claimant made the perfect target.

A knight of Rosby colors made the first move, mace high as he charged. Top heavy, he stumbled when Rhaegar danced out of the way, Valyrian steel cutting through mail and slicing open his back. He wheeled around at a snarl and parried a swing, shield-butt deflected by his armored elbow - making Rhaegar grit his teeth in pain. Twirling Blackfyre in his wrist, the Dragon King used an opening and stabbed upward, hitting him through the chest and throat. Beyond, two men-at-arms hesitated only to get caught in a flurry of arrows thwacking into the ground, driving Rhaegar back. Blood up, he gave a roar of his own and charged at a Sunglass knight.

Within minutes the fields southeast of Harrenhal had become a charnelhouse of death and blood. Two blocs of rebel troops had slammed against Lord Rosby's center, trapping it in an almost crescent envelopment of stabbing and hacking. Blocking it from the flank blocs of Ser Jonothor and Jaremy Rykker, both starting to fall back towards the kingsroad and loyalist camp as the weight of the rebels crashed upon them. Jonothor engaged the Blackfish directly, experience meeting youth in a clash of steel. Meanwhile, the unconventional fighting style of Bronn and the crannogmen put the Rykkers at the worst disadvantage when Ser Bonifer and the Celtigars pressed afterwards.

Snarling, Rhaegar was pushed back as a crossbow bolt pierced the armor of his left bicep. He snapped off the end, finding the arm functional. Charging forward, he found the Velaryon footsoldier rapidly trying to reload - lopping his head off a split second later.

He quickly looked around and found Ser Barristan engaged in a duel with a Kettleblack knight. Rhaegar quickly closed the distance, cleaving through plate armor easily with a powerful swing. Lopping off a shoulder and kicking the knight to the ground. Breathing hard, Barristan smiled warily before his eyes widened. "Your Grace!"

Rhaegar swung around, just barely blocking a morningstar from caving in his head. The man - wearing Targaryen colors - laughed malevolently and surged forward. Black armor blocking Barristan's strikes as he targeted Rhaegar. Shield up and swung nearly knocking Blackfyre from Rhaegar's hands. But the Prince redoubled, charging within the man's swing and smashing his helm into the other's. Pitching back, own helm falling off, the Targaryen sword sword got a blade through his eye courtesy of Barristan. Rhaegar then ran Blackfyre through the back of another Rosby, kicking it atop another man before slashing his throat. "FORWARD!"

Parrying a wild swing, Bronn slammed his body against a Rykker knight's shield. Stabbing his dagger through the man's eye. The bellow of horns found Blackwood light infantry racing into the fray. "To the flank! To the flank!" Grabbing a Targaryen banner, he raced to guide the men where they were needed.

The added reinforcements boxed the Rykker forces on two sides,an envelopment that failed to hack its way through the bristling wall of shields and swords but forced them east… away from the rest of the army. Allowing Lord Blackwood to ride his knights directly at the exposed loyalist center. Lances tearing through flesh and bone, bloody, writhing bodies collapsing to the ground by the scores.

As such, the Crownlanders broke. Pressed at the front by the Dragon Prince's relentless assaults, assailed with swarms of arrows while their own men had run out, the Blackwood charge ended their spirit. First ran the Rosbys, then the Buckwells. Such a trickle became a flood as the center disintegrated.

Thrill of battle fading away, his heart easing it's pounding, such was when the pain hit Rhaegar. Aches and stings all over his body, bruises throbbing if a bit of plate or mail even brushed over it. The arrow in his bicep stabbed like a burning blade, making Rhaegar grit his teeth to keep from screaming as the pain showed its ugly off his helm to suck in the cold air, it managed to temper it somewhat - the King standing strong with his men among the dead.

A neighing caught his attention and Rhaegar felt his steel returning. There was Moondancer trotting to him, not a scratch upon his hide. Seeking out his master with a gentle nuzzle of his snout. "Easy boy… I'm alright. Sort of." All he could think about was how Lyanna and Elia would kill him… then probably ride him till they passed out, but kill him first.

"Dragon King!" The cheer of Richard Lonmouth pierced the hazy din of post-battle silence.

"Dragon King!" added Rickard Karstark.

"Dragon King!" The cheer of the sour Brynden Blackfish was all too surprising, but it was enough to resound across the entire field.

"DRAGON KING! DRAGON KING! DRAGON KING!"

And in spite of the pain, fanned if it didn't feel good.

* * *

Behind him, Ser Jaime could feel a slight pulse of heat as yet another burst of wildfire scorched the outer courtyard of the Red Keep. The smoke wafting over King's Landing like a cloud unseen since the mass burnings during the Great Spring Sickness decades earlier. _The cost of defeat…_ Perhaps it was a mercy that many lords and knights of the Crownlands were already struck dead in the fighting at Harrenhal - or had surrendered and bent the knee to Rhaegar with their families. Their keeps would be destroyed, but at least they were alive.

Not much could be said for this wretched city.

Guards clinking their boots at the instantly recognizable Lion of Lannister, Jaime didn't acknowledge them as he prowled through Maegor's Holdfast. A man on a mission - a very specific mission for the one person that mattered to him anymore. His brother and sister were safe in Casterly Rock, friends and mentors fighting with Rhaegar and out of his control. Rhaegar… essentially the same way. Only one still relied on him for anything, and his service to her had consumed all of his soul.

His heart as well.

Such heavy on his mind, at the knock on the door to her private bedchamber the angelic voice from inside made his heart clench. "Who bids me?"

"Ser Jaime, your Grace," he answered. The King wouldn't bother to knock. At her positive acknowledgement, he came upon the most beautiful person in the world.

Queen Rhaella Targaryen leaned against the window of her bedchamber, overlooking the dragonpit and Blackwater Bay. A shimmering dress of white and red adorned her, almost as if diamonds were sewn into the silk. Her silver hair was in immaculate braids, wafting down her back and shoulders and held by a simple tiara. She looked like a goddess, taking his breath away.

"Ser Jaime," she regarded him, Jaime delighted to see a genuine smile forming on her gorgeous face.

It shook him from his stare. "My Queen." He bowed, removing his helm so that she could see his face. "News of the battlefield."

She nodded. "I noticed the green flames. Chelsted lost, I take it."

"Aye. Half the army either annihilated or captured, though Ser Jonothor saved the core. Lord Jaremy Rykker has been given command of it while Chelsted faces a royal inquiry today. Harrenhal capitulated to the rebels as well." Varys' little birds were bound to hear him tell Rhaella the truth, but he was on Rhaegar's side… supposedly. Jaime knew he spoke no open treasons.

"I don't care about Rykker or Chelsted." She approached him, hands falling upon his breastplate. "My son… is he…?" Her voice was low, but no less desperate.

Jaime smiled, his voice also low. "King Rhaegar lives. He fought with the fury of the Conqueror or Rogue Prince."

Relief spread on Rhaella's face. "Oh thank the gods." She looked as young as a maiden with the worries gone from her expression. "Thank all of them…" Her hands drifted to what was the smallest of swells under the dress.

It had been a bittersweet piece of news when the Queen missed two moons of her bleeding. A visit to Pycelle confirmed the pregnancy, much to the smug delight of the King - less about the babe itself but more about what the babe represented. Rhaella had been… far harder to read for Jaime even though he was an expert in her emotions. "Are you truly alright… my Queen?"

Still rubbing her stomach, a serene look passed over Rhaella's face. One that brought Jamie joy. "For the first time in a long while, Ser Jaime, I feel hopeful." Seeing him arch an eyebrow, she sighed. "I know about the hells outside, essentially my entire life only worse." Her parents and brother dead in the flames of Summerhall, her brother and husband abusive, one by one children dying… "But by the gods I feel hopeful."

"You don't worry about your babe?" Jaime willed to protect Rhaella from all threats, even if such a threat was her own optimism.

"Truthfully?" Rhaella took a moment to think. "I don't, Jaime." She cupped her swell. "My daughter will be healthy, I can feel it."

He raised an eyebrow. "Daughter?"_ I wish she were of my blood._ Jaime would have showered Rhaella with love and affection at their child in her womb. The images of what he'd never have tortured him, but he thought it anyway.

Rhaella chuckled. "Yes, a daughter. And I shall name her Daenerys." She grinned. "If they call me Queen Naerys, then why not embrace it."

"You're much stronger than her, my Queen." Eyes sparkling at the compliment, Rhaella reached up and kissed his cheek. It was as if the maiden had hit him with pure joy. "The King… he requests your presence at the royal inquiry." Both their faces fell.

Reaching the alcove that provided the side entrance for the royal family to make their less than dramatic entrances, Jaime took one peek in the throne room only to halt. "What?" Rhaella asked, tone firm.

She received a grim look in response. "Let's go back, your Grace."

"No, what is going on."

"Nothing good," was his reply.

Frowning, Rhaella involuntarily straightened - looking every inch a Queen of House Targaryen. "You will not keep me from my duties and my strength, Ser Jaime." Without another word she brushed past him… only to understand a split second later to what he referred.

Qarlton Chelsted was in full dress armor, the finest imported silks, polished plate… and his face turning purple from the garrote slowly tightening around his neck. The perpetrator was Jonothor Darry, the Kingsguard's lips pursed in a tight line as he brought the King's Justice to the Master of War. Chelsted's hands alternated several times between frantically pulling at the rope and reaching for the Iron Throne, strangled gasps begging for mercy from a monarch not inclined to deliver it.

Rhaella was rooted to the spot, eyes wide and hands clasped together over the glittering dress. Unable to say anything. Watching the once loyalist for her husband be murdered before her very eyes and the fact that her beloved Viserys was being held down by two household guards to watch the whole thing happen. "I told you, your Grace," Jaime whispered in her ear, grieving for what she must be feeling.

She did not respond.

An interminable time passed before Chelsted's struggles ceased. No longer did Ser Jonothor have to strain to hold the garrote in place, for the Master of War slumped. Eyes blown in an agonizing death. He let Chelsted's corpse collapse to the floor, stepping back as drawn out claps echoed from the Iron Throne.

"Your apology is accepted, Lord Chelsted," Aerys announced gleefully, motioning to Pycelle. "Verify he's dead, Pycelle, and be quick about it." The Grand Maester nodded and scurried to the corpse. "See what happens to those that fail, Viserys?"

"Yes,_ kepa…"_ Viserys mumbled, his voice numb.

Hearing another of her babes be subjected to Aerys' madness shook Rhaella from her shock. She strode forward, visible to all with Jaime in tow. Respectfully - yet a front to the Kingsguard that knew her so well - she curtseyed. "Your Grace."

Aerys smiled sinisterly. "Ah, wife. I hope you saw the man that lost half my personal army get what he fuckin' deserved."

She wrinkled her nose but was otherwise expressionless. "I saw that, as did our son."

"Hopefully my new babe in your womb did as well. A girl, I hope, for Viserys to sire proper dragons from - she deserves to learn how to be a Targaryen, unlike that weak shit that you bore me first."

_A weak shit that annihilated half your army, brother._ Rhaella didn't speak her thoughts, though. "May I take Viserys to his studies with the Septa, your Grace?"

Pursing his lips, Aerys ended up nodding after the longest time. "Aye, I have no use for him now. Remember what I told you, son, lest you become a weakling like Rhaegar."

Taking her son's hand in hers, Rhaella hurried him out of the Throne Room. Jaime keeping two steps behind - imagining what he would have done had the child been his ward to protect. The love he would show him and Rhaella both. "Are you alright, my dearest?" he heard her ask Viserys.

"A dragon… _kepa_ says I must be a dragon."

"There are many ways to be a dragon, Viserys."

He shook his head, curls bobbing. "Not what kepa says. Not weak like… Rhaegar…" He hesitated in saying those, but the boy would never have before. Jaime winced under his helm, knowing the pain going through Rhaella at it all.

The steel of his blade cried out to taste Aerys' blood. And yet he was far too much a coward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was no chance Aerys wasn't going full Darth Vader right there.
> 
> Rhaegar has won his first battle and proven himself in combat. He is becoming a dragon!
> 
> Little Dany is finally here! :D
> 
> Next up, the Quiet wolf and dragon reunite.


	49. No Quarter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone. Glad y'all liked the last chapter.
> 
> Awesome stuff: I have just started a collaborative project called The Targaryen Dynasty with BlackRose999. It is an interesting take on post-The Bells Targ restoration.
> 
> Also, I've just come across a great story that any Targ fan would like. It's called Black Reign from my friend bykim0120. Check it out, you won't be sorry :)
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

"Open the gates!"

High in the saddle, for the second time in his life Ned Stark took in the might of Harrenhal. Winterfell could fit inside of it three times over. Each of the massive spires looked about to topple over, weakened by the years and from Aegon the Conqueror's assault. If one doubted the existence of dragons, the melted stone of Kingspyre Tower was all the proof needed.

And yet again, the walls of Harrenhal hosted another Targaryen victory. One Ned was unable to take part in but - at the head of a column of Stark horse far in front of the bulk of his army - he could catch the aftermath. All about, the stench of death still hung over the keep. Bodies still swung from the nooses of which had taken their lives. Large fires still worked around the clock to burn other corpses before disease spread.

And the wounded... Hundreds of them lined up to receive what little medical care the maesters, septons, and local healers could give. "My Lord!" He turned to see the spindly face of Rickard Karstark, just managing to dismount his horse before the Lord of Karhold took him in a tight embrace. "Thank the gods you're here!"

Ned blinked. "Did you take many casualties?"

Karstark shrugged. "Any man lost is a tragedy, but we came off better than most." He grinned. "Howland Reed really punched above his fuckin' weight."

"Howland?"

"Aye." He pointed to a pyre of corpses. "Most of those were his doing." A laugh left him. "Northern justice for these southern cunts… and the She-Wolf should be proud of her King."

A relieved breath passed his lips. "Where are your wounded?"

Rickard nodded. "Over there, follow me."

About two dozen Karstark and fifteen Crannogmen layed about the grass, tended to by a tall man in septon's robes - he looked to be of a warrior type, but showed signs of age slowing him down. "Lord Stark!" one of the Crannogmen shouted.

Leaning against a barrel, Ned crossed his arms and gave a smile. "Heard you whipped those southerners good?"

A horseman grinned savagely. "Fuck yeah, mi'Lord. We fucked 'em up the bum!"

"Didn't know what hit 'em," a small man of the Neck said, miming a knife into the gut. "Rest of the North behind us. We kin kick 'em to King's Landin' on our lonesome."

Ned laughed. "I don't intend to be King, so Rhaegar will have to lead the attack."

One northerner, looking like he was on death's door, offered a weak smile. "Let 'em, mi'Lord. E's good people." No southern monarch had gotten such praise since Good Queen Alysanne.

After chatting with the wounded for another half-hour, he looked to the septon. "Thank you for caring for them."

"Tis not a problem, mi'Lord," the septon repeated, pouring water over his aching feet. "I do what I can."

"Very noble of you…"

He smiled. "Meribald." He shrugged. "Been through war once many years ago in the Stepstones. This is far worse."

Ned seemed interested. "The War of the Ninepenny Kings?"

"So they called it, though I never saw a king, nor earned a penny. No penny now, but at least I caught a glimpse of the King. Good man." Meribald reached into a sack and took out a loaf of black bread. "I'd love to continue this, Lord Stark, but I believe a man like you has places to be."

"Oh… I suppose so." Ned stood straight. "Thank you, again, Septon Meribald. We shall continue this."

"Bring the King of you can," Meribald called out as Ned walked towards the keep. "I'd love to actually meet one!" Ned couldn't help but chuckle.

Ice strapped to his waist and direwolf emblem both pinned to his surcoat and etched on his cloak, all guards in the keep let Ned pass without fuss - often shooting him a whoop or a call of endearment for his House or Lyanna in particular. After the third minor knight mentioned defeating Arthur Dayne in single combat, Ned decided he rather enjoyed the little bit of pride.

Finally, Ser Barristan came into view in front of the solar of the Lord of Harrenhal - a familiar face at last. "Ser Barristan!"

Catching a glimpse of him, the taciturn knight smiled genuinely. "Lord Stark, you've finally arrived. The Queen will be relieved when she is brought the news."

Thinking of Lyanna calmed Ned. "Decided to rush it when I heard of his Grace's victory. Is he inside?"

"Aye, had a strategy session with his generals. Ser Myles, Ser Richard, Lord Brynden the Blackfish, and Lord Reed. Was just dismissed half-an hour before. He didn't leave though."

_Brooding, I suspect._ "Thank you, Ser Barristan. May I…"

"Of course." He stepped aside and allowed Ned to enter the solar.

Hunched over the map table, leaning on only one arm as the other was wrapped tightly with linen bandages, Rhaegar hissed at the annoyance of being disturbed. Looking up to give the intruder a piece of his mind… only for the anger to vanish at seeing the Lord of Winterfell standing right there. "Ned."

He certainly looked like a Dragon King, Ned figured. As well as the man Lyanna fell for. "Goodbrother." He smiled.

Rhaegar matched the smile, walking round the table to him. "You made it." The two of them wrapped their arms around the other in a brotherly hug. Genuine among the closest of friends. "You don't know how much I need someone I can truly trust in charge of my allies."

"Eager to provide it, brother," Ned said, truly meaning the words. "The North stands behind its King."

"Still getting used to that title," Rhaegar chuckled. But the reason behind it hit full force. "Gods Ned, please forgive me for what happened to your brother and father."

Ned held up a hand, controlling his emotions. "It wasn't your fault, Rhaegar. Only one is at blame, as only one is at blame for Jon Arryn's death." He clasped Rhaegar's shoulders. "You are the husband of my sister and father of my niece and nephews, may the gods strike me down if I wish ill on you."

Smiling warmly, Rhaegar embraced Ned once more. "That means the world, brother. If you can, I may need a fresh pair of eyes here - along with the disposition of the North and Vale."

"Aye." They moved to the place on the map. "By the way, what have you heard of Lyanna? Is she alright?"

A sad sigh left Rhaegar's lips. "Babe is growing inside her every day, and I'm missing it. Thank the gods she has Elia to… comfort her when I can't."

It took a moment for Ned to truly understand, blushing when he did. "Gods, that is something I never would expected of her."

"Nor Elia, but it's amazing how these things work themselves out." Rhaegar laughed. "I mean, you have to be familiar with such matters, married and with a babe coming of your own." He smacked Ned on the back.

Ned's turn to sigh came. "I wouldn't… I…"

Rhaegar understood. "Cold fish?" He took the silence for affirmation. "My apologies." Wordlessly, both brothers turned to the map.

* * *

"Riders approaching, my Lord."

Jon Connington, out of the capitol and feeling his youthful, vigorous body refreshed again, watched as a line of horsemen emerged from the woods. Banners fluttering in the wind - the red three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, black weirwood of House Blackwood, the white falcon of House Arryn, a few minor banners, and…

"House Bolton?" questioned Owen Merryweather. "Why would Rhaegar fucking send them?" He wasn't very bright, but his effusive praise of the King and constant sponsoring of feasts in Aerys' honor kept him among the royal advisers and well-regarded in court. Connington felt he couldn't screw up much, so included him in the parlay that was soon to happen.

"Trying to unsettle us I suppose," Master of Ships Lucerys Velaryon replied, no one doubting the pink flayed man that wafted upon the grey banner. Unlike most among the now reorganized small council, Lord Lucerys had a head on his shoulders.

The other had such a large head, just not on his shoulders. "Doesn't matter," Robert Baratheon growled. "If they know what's good for them they'll abandon the rapist as soon as we make such a demand of them."

Connington desperately wanted to bury his sword in the oaf's eye for insulting his Silver Prince. _All in good time._ As the riders approached, the Lord Hand hoped for Rhaegar but was fine with who it composed of. _Blackwood will see sense and Bolton hates the Starks._ They'd compensate for the vengeful Elbert Arryn. In a mere minute, both sides sat upon their horses - staring at each other. "Welcome my Lords," Connington smiled. "I am honored that Prince Rhaegar accepted my request for a parlay."

"He didn't seem like he could refuse," Elbert Arryn hissed. He bore the same blonde cowlicks that his uncle had in his youth, and cut an even more imposing figure. "Unlike you, Lord Connington, he has honor."

"Honor, ha!" Robert laughed. "Rapists and defilers of women have no honor."

Tytos Blackwood eyed him curiously - as did a hooded figure waiting to the back, shadowy eyes taking in everything that was going on. "Not the best person to speak about defiling women - how many bastards do you have? Three? Four?"

"Unlike that dragonspawn, all my women wanted my seed," he said proudly. "You can tell Rhaegar that he no longer faces craven morons like Chelsted, but a proper warrior of Westeros." Robert pounded on his chest. "Any army he sends, I will destroy."

The milky eyes of the Lord of the Dreadfort narrowed… dangerously. "You make a grave mistake to underrate our capabilities, Lord Baratheon."

Robert scoffed. "I know that Rhaegar the Dragonspawn only brutalizes fair maidens that take his fancy. He doesn't fuckin' scare me, leech." He pumped Stormbreaker in the air, wielding the massive Valyrian steel warhammer as if it were a stick. "Bring his worst, he cannot match the fury."

While most would either react in fear or anger, Roose gave away nothing. Merely a jerk of the hand. "Locke, get it." Donnel Locke, heir to Oldcastle and a sworn sword to House Bolton, directed two bannermen with a stretcher covered in a burlap tarp. At the command of his liege, Locke removed the tarp… Roose taking a silent pleasure in the gasps and blanched looks from most of Aerys' retinue. "My Lords, I present Lord Boros the Belly of Harrenhal."

What had once been Lord Boros Blount - the same pompous knight that Queen-claimant Lyanna Stark had unhorsed in the tourney - had been strapped to a large Rogar's Cross. Exposed flesh and bone a bright pink-crimson, the cold thankfully stunted the smell. His mouth had been left open, as were his eyes, showing just how the man had screamed and writhed in terror as the Bolton knives went to work.

"You can't have the skin. That belongs to me," Roose added with a casual smile. Behind him, both Elbert and Blackwood looked perturbed, but not sorry to see the vile 'Lord of Harrenhal' meet a fitting fate.

It was the amiable yet old Owen Merryweather that first replied. "You are a savage," he hissed, still shocked in disbelief.

"The realm will know of this perfidy!" shot Lord Tanton Fossoway, one of the Reach Lords representing Mace Tyrell.

Roose snorted. "Your King can place the body with the ashes of Lord Stark and Lord Celtigar if you wish to be reminded of what perfidy looks like." There were chuckles among the northerners.

Of all the loyalists, the only one who didn't seem a bit disturbed was Robert. He looked almost bored. "Is this supposed to scare me, leech?" He rolled his eyes. "The rapist better do a lot worse to scare me."

"This isn't meant to scare," Tytos Blackwood answered. "Simply to prove just how determined the rightful King is."

"Aerys Targaryen is the rightful King," hissed Lucerys Velaryon.

"Not after he fuckin' killed our liege," Rickard Karstark hissed back.

Sensing things were deteriorating, Connington urged his horse forward. Coming ahead of the Master of War to meet the eyes of Bolton, Elbert, and Blackwood. "This verbal melee solves nothing. I am here to deliver the King's terms, not trade insults."

Sharing skeptical looks, Elbert interjected himself. "King's terms? Same as what my uncle received? What Lord Stark and Brandon Stark endured? Because I'd sooner trust a wildling or a Ghiscari slaver over your so-called King."

"You will refer to him as His Grace!" Merryweather huffed.

"Silence!" Connington's bark quieted the amiable fool. "His Grace will be willing to accede to terms that further the peace." _Terms that leave Rhaegar ready to strike with me by his side._ "All rebel forces are to put down their swords and head home."

Lord Blackwood scoffed. "That easily?"

"Be lucky yer' livin' at all," Robert growled.

Wishing to silence him with a dark look, Connington instead continued. "Each rebel house will send a hostage to King's Landing and pay his Grace an added lump sum of bullion as reparation. As for Prince Rhaegar…" _It's only temporary my Silver Prince._ "He will renounce his claim and be given Summerhall and the lands around it to rebuild as a hereditary keep. Additionally, he will have his marriages to Princesses Elia and Lyanna annulled but the legitimacy of his children by them will continue."

"And Lyanna will be betrothed to me, where she belongs!" Robert added, adamant about it.

"The North rejects all such offers, Lord Hand," Roose said simply. "As does his Grace. Our counteroffer…"

"Enough of this!" Robert's steed trotted forward, getting as close to Lord Bolton as he could, blue eyes blazing the fury of his house. "Heed this and heed this well. If that rapist you call a King has any stones, he will come to neutral ground and face me like a man. No one else, just each of us and our weapons."

Elbert spoke up. "Please, Robert, for my uncle and your foster father - can we please come to a peaceful accord…?"

The rage-filled brute was nothing close to the fun-loving boy that Elbert had grown up with. Consumed with vengeance and bitterness. "The only peace will come when Stormbreaker crushes the chest of the Dragonspawn." He spat on the ground near the flayed body of Boros Blount. "Fuck your counteroffers. Seems none of you will listen to reason."

"You suggest that, Robert," Barristan Selmy said for the first time that day, removing his hood to stare at the Lord of his former liege. "Your father was as strong and warlike as you, but he possessed a working mind. Instead of his great legacy, you are nothing but a drunk and a pathetic fool raging after a woman that will never be yours." He spat at Robert just as Robert had to them. "Aerys has the knack of surrounding himself with the most dishonorable people, and you are no different."

It took everything in Robert to not end Barristan's life right there - the rational part of his mind knew that the Kingsguard could probably kill him. He raised Stormbreaker's head. "After I kill that rapist dragonspawn, I'm coming after you next, old man."

Barristan smirked. "I'll keep my sword sharp for that day." Easing back on his reins, he maneuvered his horse towards the rear - riding away.

Everything seemed to be still after the verbal clash of two such commanding men. Robert still commanded. "We'll meet on the battlefield like proper men."

"Indeed we shall," Roose Bolton remarked. "Till then, my Lords."

Watching the banners of the North, Vale, and Riverlands disappear towards the woodland, Connington found his hopes for a quick peace and return to his Silver Prince dashed upon the shoals of the God's Eye. Wiped out by the storms of Durran Godsgrief's 'illustrious' decedent. _If that's how it will be, then time to force Rhaegar to realize what's best for him._ It would be painful, but it would have to be done.

"Robert," he called to the Master of War. "Assemble the army to march, and tell Ser Baelor to take Stoney Sept."

The Stag Lord whistled. "Now that's what I'm talking about!" With a massive slap upon the back of the Hand, Robert galloped off - manic grin upon his face.

* * *

_"Oh gods…"_

_"Mmmm… my lioness."_

_His gravelly voice made Cersei shiver with pleasure. "Ned… seven hells, you know… just what I like…" It was true, his hands, lips, tongue, and… attachments played her like Rhaegar played his harp. The only person she ever wanted to play her for the rest of eternity._

_Lips descending from her neck until they latched to a nipple, she writhed beneath him atop the fur bed. Bare stone walls around her unfamiliar, yet also comforting the way only a home would be. "I love you," he growled as he moved to devour her other breast. A direwolf hungry for his mate._

_"Yes… take your mate, my wolf" She tangled her hands in his hair._

_Suddenly, his hands ghosted over her belly. "I love our pup too. All our pups."_

_Her heart clenched with love. Staring at his beautiful grey eyes as Ned entered her. Filling her up the way only he could. With a smirk, she flipped him over. "I love them too, but now is just you and me." Cersei's mouth dropping in ecstasy as she rode him..._

_"So, what would you like to know?"_

_Cersei looked around and saw the hovel from her youth. The scary facade of Maggie the Frog even penetrating her youthful haughtiness. "When will I wed the prince?" she found herself saying, not in control of her speech._

_"You shant wed a Prince, but you will wed into a House of great Kings." In the distance, a massive line of shadowy figures still as stone seemed to appear, faces hard and eyes wary._

_Cersei blinked, assaulted by the images not there during the actual memory. "I will be queen to this man, though? Will he love me?"_

_"Aye, he will. But this man shall be haunted by the ghost of another long dead..."_

_The figures disappeared, replaced by a man weeping in front of a Weirwood tree. Faintly, she could make out the sobbing words. "I'm sorry… it should have been you… it should have been you."_

_She began to hyperventilate, but the voice of her memory was strong and true. "Shall he and I have children?"_

_"Seven children you shall have, all destined for greatness but the greatest not of your womb..."_

_A vision of a beautiful redhead appeared, one that Cersei instinctively felt a great affection for even though she showed no Lannister features. But suddenly the vision pushed back to reveal her astride a mighty dragon - its roar nearly rocking Cersei back._

_And then came the words… the ones that haunted her to this day. "But death shall come for your line, its claws driving forth to drag them to the abyss before you..." Shadowy tendrils of mist, black as night that filled the hut. Revealing a rider in a grey cloak, sword in his hand. "And the valonqar shall ride out from the mists that hath shrouded him his whole life, only to bury the dagger in the belly of the child you hold most dear..."_

Cersei awoke with a start. Breathing hard and her forehead drenched in sweat - not the only part of her drenched… Cursing, she attempted to stand and… succeeded. Something the large swell of her child wouldn't afford her in a few weeks time. Take the victories as they come.

Waddling to a dresser, the act of changing her smallclothes was far more difficult. Robb really hampering her. If sensing the thought the babe kicked in her womb, making the lioness smile. "Easy, little pup," she patted her belly, resolved to not let her child ever forget he was a wolf. "Take it easy on mother." A little kick answered, as if he heard her.

_"And the valonqar shall ride out from the mists... only to bury the dagger in the belly of the child you hold most dear..."_

That day a decade before, still it plagued Cersei. Jayne and Melara had ran screaming from the hut but Cersei sat firm, determined to know her fate… Only to regret it forever after.

It drove her ambitions, melded her into mistrusting and shunning Tyrion - though as a child she needed nary an excuse for that. All hat drove her was one part. Seven children, all destined for greatness. She rubbed her belly. Including, paradoxically, a dragonrider.

She didn't dream of trying to dissect that eventually.

The door opened suddenly before she could reflect further. "Alright, niece. Nap time's over."

Cersei blinked. "Aunt Genna…"

The larger than life curvy blonde didn't accept delay. "You're no longer some maiden to be kept cloistered for some man. You're a proud lioness of Lannister and it's time you learned more of how to be one."

Wrist caught in her aunt's tight hold, Cersei nearly tripped as she was dragged out. "But Aunt Genna." She glanced at her commode, feeling this was supposed to be some formal matter. "I'll need to get dressed…"

Genna looked her over, taking into account her well curled hair and maroon dress that did little to cover the babe in her belly. "You're dressed well enough. Come on."

Turns out, Cersei was both right and wrong in her initial expectation. It did end up being a formal matter, but rather her father's planning chambers with nearly a dozen of his most trusted bannermen. As eyes of the hardened men found her, Cersei knew an extra smattering of jewels and Myrish perfume wouldn't have done anything. They either regarded her in personal contempt by how their eyes drifted to her stomach.

The Light of the West had become the 'Whore of the West,' though few still knew the secret. Tywin and Ser Gregor kept it from spreading.

At the head of the immense map table, her father's scowl greeted her and Genna both. "I said not to bother, sister, lest of all with... her." The biting tone hurt.

"Well tough," Genna shot back, elbowing aside Cersei's uncle Kevan to take the position of honor right beside Tywin - uncle Tygett and Loren Payne directly across from them. "I know more about politics than my husband, and he's here." Sure enough, uncle Emmon was scrunched at the end trying to appear invisible. "Besides, Cersei needs to learn."

Ser Rolph Spicer snorted, square jaw set hard. "But a woman of her… repute…"

"And you're the grandson of a jumped up merchant that only acquired his nobility by selling silk and perfume for my father's whores, so shut it." While Spicer and many others bristled, Cersei swore that she could see a ghost of a smirk on Tywin's face. Genna was rather on the nose in her insults. "Now can we get on with this?"

Before anyone could complain further of their presence, Tywin held up his hand. "Roland, please continue."

Clearing his throat, Lord Roland Crakehall - Tywin's right hand - gestured to the map. "Based on what we know, the situation has stabilized in terms of manpower. Both the Reach and Stormlands hosts have arrived in King's Landing and swell King Aerys' army to one of the largest in history under the command of Robert Baratheon and Randyll Tarly." He leaned and traced Harrenhal castle. "Rhaegar is camped here, and his Rivermen and whatever other meagre forces he has have been reinforced."

"By who?" Leo Lefford asked - he was also a good commander, if a bit unimaginative.

"Vale knights and levies under Elbert Arryn and the bannermen of Lord Ned Stark, both thirsting for vengeance." Cersei's heart clenched. _My Ned…_ She knew he'd be going into battle but this was just too real for her. A hand brushed against her belly, before she took it away. No one knew the paternity aside from Genna, Gerion, her father, Tyrion, and Emmon. Lord Crakehall didn't notice. "Along with the Daynes, Peakes, and Blackmonts from the south. A force slightly smaller than Aerys' but strong in its own right."

Tywin stroked his chin. "Well, Rhaegar won't be able to advance. He's deficient in cavalry and that could allow Robert and Tarly to envelop him. It's defensive strategy for now."

"Brother," piped up Tygett. "If we declare now we can join with the Baratheons and crush Rhaegar in a vice." His suggestion drew nods from many around the table, most notably Rolph Spicer.

"And why should we possibly declare?" Kevan asked brow raised. "We have no dog in this fight. Best keep our men from being decimated."

A scoff from Damon Marbrand, Cersei's great uncle from her grandmother's side. "You've always been craven, Kevan, like your idiot father. Willing to fritter away all opportunity."

"What fucking oppertunity?" Genna exclaimed, incredulous. "You'd have us side with that monster? The one who absolutely hates our brother? Shame, Tygett, shame."

Tygett bristled. "You think me a fool, sister? Aerys won't last and Viserys will be far easier to manipulate. Our brother could find himself Hand again."

A laugh tumbled from Genna's lips. "If you think Jon Connington would allow that then you are the stupidest Lannister."

"And you'd have us side with Rhaegar?" Rolph scoffed. "The man that spurned our Light of the West?" He gestured to Cersei, as if forgetting the fact he had been one of the most flagrant offenders in the 'Whore of the West' murmurs that wasn't stupid enough to try and spread it outside the walls of Casterly Rock.

It made Cersei's blood boil. "I can speak for myself, Ser Rolph," she ground out, sounding a lot like her father in that moment. "And I believe we should side with Rhaegar."

"You can't possibly dictate…"

"Wait, I want to hear what she says," Loren Payne said.

Rolph looked him over with disdain. "And who the fuck are you to say…"

"I am in a position to say, Ser Rolph," Tywin said simply, shutting him up. "Tell me your thoughts daughter."

Her father's words were so… gentle that it almost unnerved her. But feeling Genna squeeze her hand gave Cersei confidence. "Aer… Aerys can win without us. Rhaegar likely can't." If she framed it as fighting to save her love, all the men would laugh her out of the room. She needed to frame it in terms of politics. "We can get more concessions out of Rhaegar rather than Aerys or Connington."

"That's… a wise statement, Lady Cersei," Roland mused.

Loren smirked. "Looks like you in a skirt, Tywin."

Tuning all words out, Tywin saw through Cersei's airs… but she did offer a smart observation. The choice was neutrality like the Dornish, or choosing one side… "Leave me."

"Brother?" Genna asked.

"I need to think," he said roughly. "All of you are dismissed."

Cersei bit her lip as soon as she was out of the chambers. "Did I…"

Genna laughed and hugged her niece. "Cersei, you did amazing." A gentle kick from Robb seemed to agree with his aunt.

* * *

Not for the first time in the history of House Bolton did its Lord appreciate the advantage of forests. They had concealed the marching hoplites of King Royce Redarm as they annihilated the Stark forces and burned Winterfell. They masked the approach of King Rogar the Huntsman as he routed the Andals near where the Twins would be. They shrouded Belthasar Bolton time and time again during the Longsister War with the Vale.

And now - watching his marching columns advance parallel to the flowing waters of the Blackwater Rush - so would the forest cover Roose Bolton as he advanced to save the very Vale houses his ancestors so gleefully slaughtered thousands of years before at the Riverlands town of Tumbler's Falls.

"Where's the fighting the thickest?" Bolton asked his guide - in the distance, the sounds of thundering hooves and clashing steel grew more and more deafening. Already, Donnel Locke and Rogar Reek were splitting the men into their attacking phalanxes. Men gritting their teeth and eager to show the tourney knights just who held the North.

Disheveled and exhausted from an entire day carrying dispatches across miles of the battlefield, young Andar Royce pointed a bit towards the southwest. "A hill just north of Tumbler's falls. Lyonel Corbray was supposed to be holding it, but his men have been savaged by Hightower cavalry."

Roose smiled. "Men, sharpen your knives!" he called out. "Time to flay the pious cunts of Oldtown!"

His bannermen whooped. "Who holds the North!" Bloodlust obvious from expression and reputation, even the savagery of that morning couldn't stop the three and ten Andar from shivering.

It had been early morning when the camp of Yohn Royce's six thousand cavalry had been set upon by Baelor Hightower and a force of over nine thousand prize horsemen of the Reach. Stampeding over the pickets and fording the Blackwater Rush in a branching pincer, Oakheart heavy cavalry engaging with Bronze Yohn's younger cousin Kyle at a small hamlet known as "Milltown" for the large windmill that dwarfed even the trees.

While each force traded control in charge after countercharge, Ser Baelor used the time gained to swing through two dirt wagon roads to assault Royce's main camp. Ben Beesbury excitedly charged at Elys Waynwood's disorganized knights close to the town itself but were bogged down by a recent snowmelt that hadn't dried, allowing the more rested Vale steeds to gain the momentum advantage. In the resulting slaughter of man and beast, the Lord of Honeyholt was among the casualties.

Ser Baelor had better luck trying to flank the Vale, ending up facing Bronze Yohn himself in a joint charge of lances that descended into a bloody mounted melee between the two forces - Reach armor and elan facing off against the discipline and endurance of the knights of the mountain. Ser Baelor rapidly found out that the latter mattered more, that skill in tourneys didn't translate to the rapidly moving slaughterhouse of the battlefield.

With all sides embroiled in stalemates, it was up to Mathis Rowan and his heavy horse to break Lyonel Corbray and his men mounted on Greenwood Hill, the highest point of elevation in the entire region. Twice they had charged, and twice the horsemen of Heart's Home stood firm under the shadow of Lady Forlorn.

Both charges had been piecemeal, and the second nearly broke them. Lowering his visor, Lord Rowan depressed lances and charged for a third time in one large sheet of over fifteen hundred horse. Hooves of the great stallions and mares churning the grass beneath them as they hundred at Greenwood Hill. Eager to finish what they started. But about to crest the hill, the Rowan knights found not the disorganized Corbray horsemen but five blocks of spearmen. Pikes bristling out and the dreaded Rogar's Cross of a flayed man slashing across their shields.

"Boltons!" came the hue and cry. The first wave stood no chance, impaling itself upon the front of the phalanx and taking heavy casualties. Men tossed from their mounts into bloody heaps, spears running through throats and chests. Wounded horses screeching in agony, falling and crushing their riders underneath. The second and third waves watched this as they struggled to a halt, milling about until Roose led a full charge at them.

What had been general organized descended into a series of confusing charges and countercharges that swept back and forth across the hill. But fresh and bloodthirsty, the Boltons cleared the hill for the final time as the sun was low in the sky, turning over a third of Rowan's men into casualties. Baelor's small reserve of Fossoway knights was delayed by inability to find the fords over the Blackwater Rush. Last minute attempts to try and break Kyle Royce at Milltown were for naught as the tired Corbray forces completed their three hour long swing around all their armies to reinforce their comrades.

Exhausted beyond belief, Baelor sounded the retreat under the cover of darkness - thousands of the pride of the Reach withdrawing across the river. Battles were not tourneys, and the young heir of the Hightower was sent smarting with this lesson. The southern shore of the God's Eye solidly in rebel hands and Rhaegar's position solidified at Harrenhal.

Setting camp and collapsing onto anything resembling a bed - be it a pile of hay or a patch of grass - the Vale knights were glad to be alive that day. Enjoying their blissful win. But it was the Boltons that celebrated their victory.

"WHO HOLDS THE NORTH!"

Roose Bolton was… far more circumspect. Focused more on the piles of Reach corpses. "I wonder how flowers look like without their skins," he mused to Yohn Royce after the battle.

"You really are a barbarian aren't you?" Bronze Yohn responded. Roose merely smiled.

* * *

Releasing a relieved breath, Lyanna sank back into the loveseat. Rubbing her aching belly and thighs all over. "Thank the gods, he's alright."

An equally relieved Elia plopped beside her wife, propping her head upon Lya's shoulder. "Aye, and your brother is finally with him. Harrenhal is large and they know the land. He'll be safe defending it." Lovingly, she caressed Lya's swell, feeling the flutters within of their little dragonwolf.

The touch of her love and the flutters in her womb made Lyanna sigh in happiness - _Rhaegar should be here, feeling this too_ \- though her mind was deep in thought. "He should abandon Harrenhal."

"Why?" Elia had little knowledge of military matters. Of the two of them, Lyanna was the closest to becoming the warrior queen that Visenya was.

Lya leaned over to kiss the crown of Elia's head, the two of them enjoying such a serene moment with each other. "Harrenhal is good ground but close to King's Landing. Best make Robert extend his supply lines and blunder into an ambush deeper into the Riverlands."

"I hope Rhaegar kills Robert," Elia ground out.

In response, Lyanna squeezed her waist. "I hope so too."

Suddenly, Arthur burst into the room. "Your Graces."

Elia was up quickly. "Is it Dacey?"

"No, I'm fine." Beside him, an equally worried Dacey looked as if she had seen a demon. "There's an army at the gates. Banners of the Reach, sellswords, and the black stag."

Easing herself up, at the last Lyanna's eyes widened. "Black stag… Baratheons." Her final word was spat out with the deepest contempt. "How many?"

Hours later, the group of them stared out a slit in the battlements, watching the sea of banners, tents, and gleaming steel settling to camp across the Torrentine. "There have to be at least five thousand," murmured Benjen, having tossed on his armor even though he was given the day to rest - having been with Ashara at the time. "Where did the Mad King get so many forces to come down here? Without being spotted by the Dornish?!"

"House Blackmont and our cousin at High Hermitage all left for the North," Ashara mused, lips pursed in apprehension. "Without patrols it would have been simple, especially if they had the cooperation of the Reach."

"Some riders are coming to the keep," said one of the Dayne guards. "They carry white flags of parlay."

"My father will want to treat with them," Arthur said.

Elia nodded. "Aye, and I will too. They are here for me, not for House Dayne."

As Lyanna moved to join her wife and guards in the gatehouse, her brother attempted to block her path. "Ben," she growled - eyes filled with a wolffish fury upon realizing what he was doing. "Move."

"Ser Benjen, stay," Arthur commanded, the senior of the Kingsguards.

Lyanna's glare was close to murderous. "As Queen, I command both of you. Move aside." They refused.

But her attempt to force her way past them was stopped by a gentle touch. Lya looked with wide eyes from the bronzed hand to honey-brown eyes. "Please, Lyanna. Let me handle it," Elia begged.

Her worried tone melted most of Lyanna's anger. "I am not weak nor feeble, Elia. My people need to see their Queen."

"Normally I would agree, but something is off about this." Elia moves to pat Lya's swell. "I can't risk you and Jon both."

"But…"

"Your Grace," interjected Arthur. "Among the banners I've seen are those of the Brave Companions and other sellswords. Their reputation is detestable even by the lowest standards."

Benjen looked grim. "They make the Boltons look honorable. Please, sister."

Biting her lip, the thought of one of those monsters hurting Jon swayed Lyanna. "Alright, but tell me everything they say."

"Of course." Leaning forward, she murmured something into her wife's ear, Lyanna nodding in understanding at each word. "Alright?" In lieu of an answer Elia was pulled into a quick and passionate kiss, Lyanna's mouth stealing her breath away.

"Stay safe. Come back to me." At her wife's plea, Elia could only nod. Having averted their eyes, the Kingsguards only shifted when Elia broke the embrace - Arthur following her into the courtyard while Benjen stayed with her. Small smile on his face. "What?"

He shrugged, smirking. "We have the same taste in Dornish girls, it seems." If it wasn't so tense, Lyanna would have chuckled along with him. Instead, she rolled her eyes and headed in the opposite direction of the keep. "Lya… Lya?" Benjen called out, following her.

Hands clasped on the front of her red and black dress, Elia certainly looked the part of a Targaryen Queen. Black hair pinned into a severe but intricate series of braids, she waited between Ser Arthur and Lord Althos. Elia's frown deepened at each clack of the chain that brought down the drawbridge over the narrowest stretch of the Torrentine around the island. "You still don't have to do this, your Grace," offered the eldest Dayne.

Seeing the riders approach the gatehouse, black and yellow banners of House Baratheon flanking them, Elia narrowed her eyes. "No, I have to." Wordlessly, Elia walked out of the gatehouse. Riders dismounting and approaching half-way as well. Only six feet apart, the enemy leader removed his antlered helm to reveal the youthful beauty of Renly Baratheon. "Princess Elia." He bowed, smirk on his face. "It is heartening to see you in person alongside the Lord of Starfall."

Elia smiled - more akin to a hyena than anything amiable. "Lord Renly. I could smell the foul stench of stags from across the Torrentine."

"My brother has a rather noxious stench, I agree. Seems I haven't scrubbed it off yet." Renly's smile didn't falter. He had every reason to be confident. "Where is the Stark whore? I would have thought the fierce Witch Knight would want to be here with lance and sword."

"The only sword you'll see is the one that lops off your head, Baratheon," Arthur hissed, hand on the hilt of Dawn, leading the others to reach for their blades.

It was Elia that deescalated the situation. "Enough!" It worked as to both sides.

One rather brutish fellow with an Essosi tan chuckled. "Well well, seems thhhe frail Princesshh has some bithhe to her. I approve. You'll make a fhhine pleasure slave for me."

Elia's eyes narrowed. "A dagger will end up in your stomach before I let you touch me, Brave Companion." She meant that.

His lecherous sneer turned into a scowl. "Howthh's abouthh we test thhhath now?!"

But a punch to the jaw stopped him. "Enough Vargo!" Tagyn Sand bellowed. "We are under a flag of truce. Forgive me, Princess. He does not know about Westerosi concepts of honor." The scowl only deepened on Vargo's lips.

"There is much he doesn't know, I suspect." It gave Elia a bit of satisfaction to ruffle the brute. "Anyways, what do you want, Renly?"

Unnerved by how his men were distracting him, Renly was glad to get back to the subject at hand. "Ah, good. It's simple really." He looked at Lord Althos. "Lord Dayne, you can keep your keep and your men… I'll even throw in your son, he means nothing to me. But only if you hand over the Princess, her brats, and the Starks. They face the King's Justice in the capitol."

"You mean being burned alive for crimes only existing in the King's delusions," Arthur glowered.

"I cannot speculate as to his Grace's mindset." The smile only grew wider. "I'll sweeten the pot, ser Arthur. You can keep your Mormont whore. Wildlings don't matter to me, only royals and witches."

Holding up a hand, Elia looked each man in the eye. A knight of House Dunn, Lord of House Sloane - likely here to keep their castles from reverting back to Peake control - the two Brave Companions, and Renly. _How… pathetic._ "I have but one answer for you, Renly." She dragged it out. "Fuck you."

The knights seemed shocked to hear a highborn lady utter such words, but Renly merely laughed. "You dare to face my thousands of men with your pathetic few hundred?" Elia merely raised her palm up, saying nothing - further infuriating him. "The blood of every man, woman, and brat in the keep will be on your hands…"

Suddenly an arrow smacked into the wood of the drawbridge, right between Renly's feet. The young highborn yelped and scrambled back - tripping and tumbling to the ground in a heap. Elia smirked, looking at the arrow. Just a bit higher and it would have ripped through his manhood.

Shaking from the fear of it all, his expression showed Renly knew that as well. His eyes, as well as all but Elia, drawn to the battlements of the gatehouse. To Queen Lyanna, bow in her hand and chestnut hair blowing wild in the wind. Almost a vision of Daena the Defiant.

Cheeks burning with rage and humiliation - he could hear the laughs of the Daynes and the hidden chuckles of his own men directed at him - Renly scrambled to his feet. "You will all hang for this! Consider this my notice of no quarter!"

Elia's eyes burned just as brightly. "Likewise, Renly. Likewise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the Queens are now surrounded. Not a good situation at all.
> 
> Ned and Rhaegar are already the closest of friends, while we now have Septon Meribald.
> 
> Hope you liked the new version of the Maggie the Frog prophecy. Already, we now have the senior leadership of the westerlands on display.
> 
> Next time, Jaimella comes to a head ;)
> 
> The more reviews, the quicker the update comes!


	50. Forbidden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news, friends, I'm considering starting another fic. It'll be set during the time of Aegon the Conqueror, Queen Visenya, and Maegor the Cruel. Be sure to let me know what you think about it and I'll reveal more details later :)
> 
> Also, I've just come across a great story that any Targ fan would like. It's called Black Reign from my friend bykim0120. Check it out, you won't be sorry :)
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

Pitch darkness shrouding the entrance to the Bay of Torrentine, everyone aboard ship darted about with highly-tuned silence. Boots soled with cork or felt so as to not scuff atop the deck. "Steady, lads, steady," Davos Seaworth whispered. "Tiller amidships."

A gentle breeze passed from the southwest, perfect to slip the newly acquired sloop to make the dash towards Starfall. Large sails picking up the air, masts angled to provide the fastest push through the water, white trails of foam in its wake. A much better sailing than the skiff or tiny cog the smuggler used before. Plus, the stores he could carry were expanded now that he could focus on speed rather than innocuous stealth to slip past patrols by Braavosi customs officials or the King's tax collectors.

"Why are we headed to fuckin' Starfall," hissed his first mate, voice low so that only Davos could hear it. They'd been together since the beginning, and worked like a well oiled mill.

Davos glanced at the rocky hills and ridges that towered over the bay, the ones that had sunk several cogs that tried to break past the land blockade… at least those that had beat the Redwyne fleet patrolling farther out to sea. _Amateurs._ "The King-claimant's Queens are nestled in there, surrounded by hostile enemies. If Rhaegar wins, which I think he will, rewards are to be large when he finally does take the Iron Throne." _Queens as good as them… the people would tear down the walls of the Red Keep to see them rule._

"Ya' better know what yer' doin', Davos." The First Mate moved away, towards the bow when a large fountain of water erupted a hundred feet off the starboard side. "Missiles!"

"Hard a starboard!" Davos bellowed, all sense of stealth abandoned. Even painted a dark blue, the sloop was not the quietest of ships - and the silhouette was still very spottable by a keen eye. Apparently the besieging forces had many a keen eye. The sloop groaned from the sudden jerk of the tiller, tilting heavily to the side as it made its hard turn. Davos gripped the railing, holding himself upright. Eyes closely following the flaming arc now plunging directly at him.

But as he had thought, they overcorrected the catapults, aiming farther to port and slamming very close to where the sloop had been… but far from where it was now. "Seabed!" one of the men called out. "Ten fathoms!" They were shallowing, so land was close.

"Half to port!" Davos called out, seeing the flicker of lights hard north. _Starfall._ The sloop groaned again from the power of the turn as two other missiles slammed into the bay. One close enough to shower half the crew with seaspray. Heart pounding, Davos hadn't felt as alive in years. "Land ho! Prepare docking speed!"

"Aye, captin'!"

Tying the sloop to the docks, covered and free of attack by the battlements of the keep itself, the crew had already unloaded half the supplies before a contingent of Dayne guardsmen arrived from Starfall. "Halt!" called out the leader, moonlight exposing his kingsguard armor.

Even a Flea Bottom gutter rat would recognize the Sword of the Morning. "Ser Arthur," Davos began, walking towards the detachment. "I come bearing supplies…" Only moments later he was seized by two guardsman. "What the fuck?"

"We don't know who you are, sellsail," Arthur growled back. "Take him to the dungeons till we can sort this out."

"This is a mistake!" Davos cried out, the guards hauling him into the keep. "I am on your side."

"We'll see about that, sellsail," a guard growled.

"Davos?!"

The guards halting where they were, Davos looked over to the end of the hallway to find a woman - a heavily-pregnant woman dressed in a more modest Dornish dress. Chestnut hair drawn back into a messy bun. He'd never forget such a fair face. "Princess… Queen Lyanna." She rapidly walked towards the group

Ser Arthur trotted to where the Queen was, meeting her in the middle. "Your Grace, what are you doing here at this late hour? You and the little Prince should be resting."

Truth was, Lyanna was unable to sleep, nightmares plaguing her even with Elia holding her close. She needed air and found herself close to the docks… only to find this. "The babe and I are perfectly fine, now what are you doing with this man?"

"He says he's a smuggler trying to bring in supplies, but we can't be sure of his identity."

"Your Grace, you must remember me," Davos begged. He had endured the dungeons of a castle before - it was an experience he cared not to repeat.

Lyanna, luckily for him, remembered Davos quite well. "This man is Davos Seaworth of Flea Bottom. He is a smuggler and is the husband of the matron of the orphanage." She marched to the guards. "Release him at once."

As his arms were released, Davos immediately bent the knee. "Your Grace, forgive me for my intrusion into your lodgings in this time of war…"

"If you had informed anyone, then there would have been no getting past the blockade, I understand." Lyanna beckoned him to stand. "Ser Arthur said that you brought supplies?"

Letting out a relieved breath, Davos nevertheless felt several eyes on him - Ser Arthur's being the most poignant. Dawn ready to protect his Queen from harm. Davos didn't intend to end up at the receiving end of the famous blade. "Some general foodstuffs from Oldtown, ones that wouldn't arouse suspicion from the Hightowers. Grain, oats, potatoes. Several barrels of salted beef and pork… plus a sack of fresh fruit for the Princess and Prince," he smiled sheepishly.

Lyanna beamed in response. "Well, I am sure that they would greatly appreciate it, Davos… as would I in my condition." She patted her belly. "Come with me, we'll find accommodations for your men"

Davos shook his head. "No, we'll need to be off before dawn to make it past the pickets. But we'll be back, I promise."

"I look forward to it." Perhaps they would survive the growing food shortage within the walls after all.

* * *

Huffing, desperately trying to catch his breath, Lord Willam Dustin burst into to war room of Harrenhal. Interrupting a strategy meeting currently in progress… but his announcement was important enough to blow three horses getting from the Crownlands to the great keep in less than a day. "Your… your Grace…"

Ned answered for his goodbrother, "Seven hells, Willam." The lead scout was close to collapse in front of the entire war council. "Fetch him something to drink."

"No time… Robert…" But when someone thrust a skin of sour wine… Bronn most likely, though perhaps the Blackfish, Dustin drank it down greedily. Soothing his wheezing throat and numbing it.

At the head of the table, Rhaegar looked upon him expectantly. "Well, Lord Dustin? Out with it." Given their skills on horseback, the Dustins took over scouting duty from Howland's Crannogmen - at least the far-placed pickets deep in the Crownlands.

Dustin nodded. "Lord Robert's army marches for us. Stormlands and Reach banners among the columns."

A cacophony burst out, every Lord and knight of the twenty-person council taking it upon themselves to point out their preferred strategies on the map. Jabbering at the top of their lungs to their comrades… until Rhaegar slammed his fist upon the table. "We will be civilized, you cunts. One at a time!"

Ser Alliser Thorne spoke up first. "We must prepare defensive positions north of the Keep. I'd give Robert two weeks to arrive here so we still have time to prepare."

"And not use Harrenhal as a defensive position?" Titus Peake exclaimed. "You're just asking for Randyll Tarly and Alester Oakheart to slam through us."

"Better than being hemmed into a siege at a position we could not hold," Thorne shot back.

"Your Grace," said Howland Reed, calmly scanning every escape route on the map. "We can still withdraw deeper into the Riverlands. Allow the northerners to raid and bushwhack until Robert overextends his supply lines… we can defeat him in detail then."

Leaning in, Ned spoke quietly in Rhaegar's earshot. "Harrenhal isn't defensible outside the castle. A few hills and a creek, that's it."

"Lord Stark speaks true, your Grace," added Ser Gerold, his mind sharp since commanding the royal forces in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. "You won last time since there were no defenses for Chelsted to utilize. No one would think less of you if you retreat."

Brooding, Rhaegar looked at the map again. They were outnumbered, not decisively so but in an open fight it could be. He visualized the various movements in every contingency he could imagine. The Battle of Redgrass Field kept coming to mind. Would he be Blackfyre or Maekar? Would he entrap Robert or just savage his own army in the process?

_Robert is aggressive, not cautious._ From jousting against him - and what Lyanna had said about him, Rhaegar's blood boiling at the thought - he would be opposite of Chelsted and attack with everything he had. That could exhaust the loyalist army, but given the Westerlands hadn't chosen a side…

No, he had to annihilate Robert on the field as he did Chelsted. Either withdraw or… "Ser Lyonel, how soon can the knights of the Vale arrive from Tumbler's Falls?"

Lyonel Corbray blinked. "A week if we push it, but I think it could be longer for the Bolton forces."

Nodding, he looked at the Blackfish. "Ser Brynden, Walder Frey and his bannermen still haven't arrived."

"He sent a raven saying Ser Stevron was on his way. Beyond that…" he trailed off.

Rhaegar scowled. He needed those men. "Send a rider up the Kingsroad. Find the Freys and get them here!" Pinching the bridge of his nose, Rhaegar would have to fight with what he had. "Tumbler's Falls changes the situation. Our strategic flank is secure, so we stay and fight. Ser Alliser, see to the defenses."

After the council drew to a close, Rhaegar explaining each facet of his plan and taking suggestions from the other Lords, he and Ned walked along the battlements of the great castle. "What you're doing is very risky, brother," the Lord of Winterfell remarked.

"I've been in the midst of battle, Ned. I know what risks there are." His arm had just healed up, and was still a bit stiff sometimes. _I'll have to train more._ "Robert has more men and his are fresh. We need to defeat at least part of them in detail." Catching how Ned winced, Rhaegar sighed. "I'm sorry that we have to face your friend in battle." He was determined to kill the cunt for what he did to Lyanna, so his sorrow was merely for his goodbrother's sake.

Wrestling with the recriminations of it, Ned simply sighed. "I've come to terms with fighting him, because I don't see him as the enemy. Your father is."

Rhaegar glanced at him - eyebrow up. "He wants Lyanna for himself, and he'll slam his warhammer in my heart to get her." He could sense Ned's conflict. "If the time comes, will you…"

"Just spare him if you can, brother. Promise me that." Ned's greys met Rhaegar's violets. "I know I can get through to him, make him bend the knee if he is taken prisoner… or if your father dies."

Looking at his feet for a moment, Rhaegar relented. "For you, I'll try to take him alive, but no promises. I won't do what Daemon did at Redgrass Field." His zeal to save Gwayne Corbray doomed him. From his nod, Ned understood.

Sensing a presence, Ned embraced the distraction. "Brother, come here. Septon!" he called out, drawing the attention of the humble septon. "This is the man I met when I arrived here, Septon Meribald."

As Rhaegar came into view, Meribald's eyes widened, taking to his knee. "Your Grace."

Few septons would actually bend the knee to temporal authority, so already Rhaegar had a good first impression. "Rise, Septon Meribald." As he did, Rhaegar smiled. "Northerners usually hate those of the Faith, but my goodbrother only speaks well of you and how you tended to the wounded of all faiths."

"I do what I can, your Grace. All souls are the children of the gods, and it would be hypocritical of me to deny one group such love while embracing another."

Rhaegar was impressed. "Not many Septons agree with you. Nor the High Septon or Most Devout."

Meribald's face curled in disgust. "Our noble Faith has regressed. Once we went out with well-intentioned piety to provide a true heavenly order in the world, but now the institution is either corrupted by earthly desires - as I once was." He would always seek penance for the sins he committed as a man of the gods. "Or fanatic zealots hellbent on forcing their ways into the entire kingdom, abusing the power the gods bestowed upon them."

"Sounds like you'd make some changes if you had such power," Ned observed.

He chuckled. "I do have dreams to make it all better, to bring honor and prestige to the Starry Sept once more. But alas," he shrugged. "I am just a country septon"

For once, a Septon brought Rhaegar calm rather than haughtiness or a sense of being smothered - removing his every blood instinct from him, everything that made him a dragon. "Tell me, Septon Meribald, would you take us to the sept to pray. Ned isn't of your Faith and I… I lapse sometimes, but we would be honored to take your prayer." Looking at Rhaegar, Ned couldn't help but agree.

Smiling, Meribald gestured his hands. "I would be happy to ease your mind, your Grace."

* * *

The sour-faced guard bowed as Aeron Greyjoy approached. The Septon to the Drowned God held an even sterner face than would normally be ascribed to those of the Iron Islands - weathered and hardy as the rocks that made up Pyke castle. But the guard was deferent to the youngest son of his Lord. Few earned respect through anything but the Iron Way, and through his faith Lord Aeron was one.

He nodded as he passed the guard. "What is dead may never die," he murmured, flickering a sprinkle of seawater upon the man's face. A blessing that was met with a profuse thanks. Allowing a rare smile to pass his thickly bearded lips, Aeron passed into his Lord's bedchamber. "Father?" he called out. "You summoned me?"

"My son?" A wrinkled wraith called from the sickbed. "Come here." Quellon Greyjoy was once a tall man, one that fought like a banshee in every sort of war and raid that the Ironborn were famous for. Attacking Blackfyre, Free City, and even Lannister forces with a fury that would make the Iron Way proud. Now though, he was emaciated by sickness. Barely able to keep food up and beset by powerful headaches. The great Lord of the Iron Islands was dying, all of his children knew such. "Oh Aeron…" Quellon's nose wrinkled in distaste. "Gods, you smell of rot."

Aeron shrugged. "Suppose I must change out the seaweed." Tied to his beard, the dried plant of the sea brought him closer to the Drowned God… though it needed frequent changing. "So, what did you request of me?"

Not one to mince words unlike his cunning son Euron, Quellon cut to the heart of the issue. "I'm dying, my son. It will soon be over for me." As if proving his statement true, he coughed - almost hacking out a lung it was so severe.

"Shall I fetch a maester, father?" Aeron asked, reaching forward to grab his hand. Reaching for the tip of his waterskin to draw holy seawater. Wordlessly he sprinkled it on his father's forehead, willing silently for the Drowned God to take the pain away.

A minute later, the Lord of the Iron Islands finally managed to settle down, though his voice remained raspy. "Son, all I've done… I've worked so hard and so much is left unfinished." The reforms of Quellon Greyjoy were extensive. Ones that constituted the greatest change in the Ironborn way of life since Harwyn Hoare conquered the Riverlands over three centuries before. Abolition of Thralls, ending of Salt Wife practices. The bringing of maesters onto the rocky shores… none could have been fathomable until Lord Quellon. "But your brothers seek to destroy it."

"Your children are all loyal to you…"

Aeron was stopped as his father lurched out of bed, grabbing his arms with bony fingers. "Listen to me," he hissed. "They will get us into war. To revive the Iron Price by any means necessary. Balon will do it, Victarion will lead the fleets, but it will be all Euron's doing, the little monster." It was no secret that Euron was his father's least favorite - quite mutually. "They will destroy us, for the Seven Kingdoms will reign fire upon the Iron Islands if they are just given the excuse."

"I understand, father, but they are in civil war. Dragon against dragon?"

Quellon shook his head. "Doesn't matter." He coughed again. "One will win. One always wins. My foolish sons will destroy us, so make sure to stop them. Stop them by any means necessary." His grip tightened on Aeron. "Save us… you're the only one… who… can…" Wheezing heavily, Quellon fell back on the bed, the coughs turning into spasms of pain.

The youngest Greyjoy was out of his seat in an instant. Yelling for the guards. "Fetch the maester! Tell him to bring milk of the poppy, now!"

Some time later, as the Lord of Pyke slowly drifted off to a serene sleep, Aeron walked out of the room. Heeding his father's words - needing guidance from the Drowned God, but knowing he was right.

* * *

It was obvious that Lord Robert Baratheon had a temper. Many had been at the receiving end of it, but neither Stannis nor the rest of the loyalist war council had ever seen him this enraged. "You fucking cunt!" Had Stormbreaker been in his arms, he would have likely cleaved the table in half. "Do you see what you've fuckin' done?!"

Connington didn't budge, not afraid of Robert. "If the army went at the pace you wished for it, it would have arrived at Harrenhal completely exhausted and at the mercy of the Starks and Arryns."

"We fuckin' outnumber them!" Grabbing Olyvar Oakheart, he thrust the Lord of Old Oak into the mix. "Go ahead, tell all of us what you just told me!" For once, Robert was completely sober and spoke in proper sentences. _Battle agrees with him._

Gulping, the leader of the army's scouts rolled his shoulders back and made it to the table. "Alright, we outnumber the enemy forces at least eighty thousand to fifty thousand according to what reports Lord Varys has provided us." No one trusted the slippery Spider, but his information was supremely accurate and he had the King's ear. "They're being reinforced as we speak by the forces of the Vale under Yohn Royce."

"You fuckin' see?!" Robert bellowed.

Many Lords agreed with him. "Had we marched quicker we'd have caught them without the knights of the Vale," argued Lord Caron of Nightsong.

Randyll Tarly nodded, the man in effective command of the army due to his… strategic mind. "They'll have defense in depth, ignoring Harrenhal itself lest they be trapped in a siege." He gestured to the line of the small creek that trickled into the God's Eye. "Given we are unable to hit them from the rear as Baelor Targaryen did at Redgrass Field, we will have to strike them with a frontal assault."

Baelor Hightower frowned, still chastised by his defeat at Tumbler's Falls. While nearly a thousand of his men had perished and the same amount wounded and out of the fight, no one truly blamed him. Faulty whispers hadn't shown Bolton in the area, and he had withdrawn in good order. _Never piss off the Hightowers._ "Attack head on against prepared defenses?"

"They will not be expecting it, and are woefully short of heavy infantry. Northmen with axes and light armor may be good brawlers, but they cannot fight in formation to save their lives… except perhaps the Boltons."

"The Boltons are still in Tumbler's Falls," mused Lord Selwyn Tarth, another marital house of the Stormlands. "We could attack while some of Rhaegar's best troops are absent."

Connington pounded the table in agreement. "Good, my Lords, good. And Lord Baratheon can lead the main assault."

Robert seemed to perk up at that. "Wherever Rhaegar is, I'll be there to strike him down like the rapist he is." With a flourish of his cape, the Lord of Storm's End withdrew. Master of War gone, the council essentially began to empty… until it was just Connington and Stannis left.

Sensing the young Baratheon eying him with suspicion, Connington turned around. "Is there something you wish to say, Ser Stannis?"

Pursing his lips, Stannis nodded. "You seemed eager for a frontal assault, even as you wanted a slower movement. Why?"

"It's the better plan," the Hand replied.

"Or you wish to use the plan of least risk."

_You're right, though I'll never admit it._ Connington's… objectives of fighting the war didn't completely match up with his King's. "You're seeing ghosts, Stannis."

"Perhaps." The middle son made his way to the entrance. "Oh, by the way, my last raven to Storm's End and my brother found the Castillan respond in his stead. Seems he went off to parts unknown. I wonder if you have anything to do with that?"

Connington scoffed. "You must have hit the same flagon as your brother, Stannis."

Narrowing his eyes, Stannis simply walked off. He could never prove any of his suspicions, but the more the days went by the more he felt that his long, august House was ever closer to extinction.

* * *

"How soon will Lord Baratheon's army reach Harrenhal?" the king demanded with a snarl.

"It shouldn't be long, your Grace," replied Lord Merryweather, belly jostling as the entourage proceeded down the halls of Maegor's Holdfast. "The last raven had them setting out from Antlers…"

A bony hand waved him off. "Bah, Connington is slowing him down. A bullheaded lad like Robert, he would have fucking attacked weeks ago if let off his leash. Stupid stag cunt, but every ruler has to have one like that."

"Of course, your Grace."

Jaime fought the urge to roll his eyes at the obsequious lord - bending the knee before the Mad King in order suck his cock, it was revolting. Everyone bowed and scraped before Aerys… including himself, Jaime had to admit. Cowards all.

_I've seen what he's done to my beloved… and I do nothing but pick up the pieces._ It only made it worse that Jaime knew the feeling of helplessness… but for Merryweather and the others it wasn't fear of death, but a craven greed to manipulate the King. The Lord of Longtable had no competence in anything but organizing feasts and flattering the King, which earned him a high position.

_Rhaegar… you can't win soon enough._

"...the Queen fairing in carrying your new Prince of Princess?" Catching the tail end of their conversation, Jaime's attention shifted. Listening with rapt hearing.

"Bah, she's weak like she always was. Confining her to her rooms with this Lion cunt guarding her every day…" He motioned to Jaime behind him. "But lately… she's fucking defiant."

"How so?"

Aerys scoffed. "It's as if she's trying to resist me." A cackle left him. "I showed the folly of that only hours before." Jaime's blood ran cold. "A Queen is subservient to her King. Had Aegon IV done that instead of gallivanting with mistress after mistress, then perhaps Naerys wouldn't have fooled around with Aemon or raised Daeron II to be a weak little shit," Aerys spat. "Fools all of them."

At that moment, Ser Olymer Tyrell - brought by his cousin Lord Mace to supplement the Kingsguard even though he looked quite uncomfortable wearing the white cloak - arrived to switch shifts with Jaime. He didn't blame the poor knight. Along with the Stormlander Ser Rolland Storm, the new Kingsguards chafed under the perfidy of serving Aerys on the whims of petty men.. Only Rhaegar deserved to hold their oaths, this Jaime knew with certainty.

He was everything a Targaryen King should be.

Bowing to the madman that supposedly held the crown, he hid the fear on his face. The dread at what could have possibly happened to the Queen. As such, he rushed towards the Queen's quarters, far away from the King's by all providence of the gods.

Dismissing the guards left at the door and waiting for the both of them to disappear around the corner, Jaime's heart pounded as he made his way inside. His fears were validated, finding Rhaell - his beautiful Queen - hunched over on the bed. Tears falling from her cheeks as she cried softly, hugging her legs.

Seeing fresh bruises on her legs and shoulders, Jaime rushed to her side. Hiding his own anguish beneath the facade of Aerys II Targaryen's kingsguard mask. "My Queen..."

Rhaella looked up and through her tears could see the one man left in the capitol that seemed to care about her. Helm removed, Jaime's blonde hair fell to his shoulders, emerald eyes sparkling with such compassion and worry that she could have sworn Joanna was back. The simple, happy days of her father and mother's reign where her friends Joanna Lannister and Mynara Martell lived without fear. It was only fitting that her son would provide Rhaella with an inkling of such times. "Ser Jaime..."

"Let me fetch some water." He proceeds to the bathchamber and wets a cloth from the filled basin - the servants always keep it well stocked due to the babe's needs. Returning, he kneels by her side at the bed.

She winced as the kingsguard eased the towel over the bruises, though it soon soothed her. Gods, she was glad to have him. "Thank you," Rhaella murmured, enjoying his attention. Moaning in contentment.

The moan threatened to go straight to his crotch. "Is the babe...?"

Moving her hands to her belly, Rhaella could feel her babe. Unlike her past pregnancies, this time she felt not a single thing wrong with her. "The little one is fine Ser Jaime."

A silence fell as Jaime continued to ease the bruises his Grace left - merely to keep her in line. "Why did he do it?"

Rhaella closed her eyes. "I spoke of him making amends with Rhaegar. This was the result." She trembled. "Luckily he didn't strike my stomach."

"If the babe came to harm, I'd kill him where he stands."

"No Jaime," Rhaella exclaimed, eyes flying open but keeping her voice down. "You're a Kingsguard, bound to protect the royal family." They had this argument before, but somehow things had changed. How intensely he looked at her, Rhaella shivered. "Doing so would put you at a level even lower that of the kingmaker, the kingslayer." Her voice had lowered even softer, however.

Just being around her made his heart beat faster. Rhaella Targaryen… she was perfect. There existed no perfect knights as in the songs, but even with the effect of reality she was exactly like the maidens idolized by all. "I'm sworn to protect the true King and his family…" Jaime took her hands in his. "Rhaegar is the true King and you are his family." At that moment he recognized the magnitude of his touch - how he could have his head removed just for this - but he didn't care.

Propriety dicated she remove her hands from his… but she couldn't bring herself to. "Viserys declared that his daughter was the rightful heir, that didn't stop Alicent and her allies from undermining it"

"I don't care..." Jaime looked her in the eyes. "I will protect you from him, I swear it."

_Oh Jaime…_ Rhaella wordlessly hugged the son of her best friend, glad to have such a man to protect her. To hells with propriety - for once she was selfish, seeking some form of protection and comfort that she hadn't had since Summerhall. "Why do you protect me so... I am not worth it, Ser Jaime..."

Simply hearing her doubt herself, hate herself even… it broke something within him. Jaime backed up slightly and looked into the amethyst eyes he loved so much. "Never say that about yourself _Rhaella."_ She shuddered when he dared to say her given name. It was intimate… as if between her son and gooddaughters. "You're a Queen, a Queen of House Targaryen and the one that brought me back from the abyss - that gave me something honorable to live for." There was no need to elaborate… they all realized that he meant the King. "I protect you because…" _Fuck it. I don't fucking care anymore._ "I love you Rhaella, with all my heart."

Her eyes widened. Utterly shocked at this... Rhaella should have seen it, but she hadn't. It all made sense though. _How he's always beside me… his devotion…_ it was love… What most would think of as lust or greed driving him, Rhaella knew it to be genuine. "You love me?"

"Yes." He wasn't denying it anymore. "I understand nothing can happen between…" Jaime was cut off when Rhaella grabbed his cheeks and pulled him into a kiss.

This was insane - as mad as her husband. Treason for the both of them as what had happened to Bethany Bracken so long ago, but after all that had happened... Daenerys in her belly made her crave protection and comfort. All of which Jaime provided, was glad to provide. The only one who genuinely cared - it just happened. A burst of lust that overpowered her sanity and logic. Mouths fusing together in a loving clash of tongue and teeth.

Now it was Jaime's eyes that widened. He couldn't believe it, the woman he loved, the angel that had saved his very soul... she was actually kissing him. It was a dream… one he couldn't help but take advantage of. After the shock faded, he returned the kiss with full force, letting out all the pent up desire.

Her fingers desperately stripped off his armor, mouth watering at how the tunic barely his his muscular chest. It soon joined the rest on the floor, Jaime pushing her onto her back. Rhaella kept their lips together, muffling their noises. The red keep had many ears after all, but it didn't stop him from slowly stripping her. "I love you," he murmured. "You deserve it all." Rhaella was in a daze, but at his general caresses and clear desire for her - even with her pregnancy - for the first time in her life she felt pleasure from the sexual act. The touch of a man making her hum with pleasure rather than cringe in pain or revulsion

Jaime felt impatient, his body throbbing with need for the Queen. Forbidden love, but his. Jaime pinned her to the bed, earning a yelp. He gazed down on her, pale skin glowing, purple eyes shimmering with desire. Her lustrous hair was such a mess, plump lips parted as she panted.

It all made him painfully hard.

Rhaella stared up at him. Here she was, married and pregnant with the King's child, and all she wanted was to feel the love of her best friend's son. "Don't hurt me, Jaime," she murmured in a low voice, her history unable to abandon her.

But what he did next - not ignore her or leave - made her heart his. Jaime lowered his face until their noses were touching. "I would never hurt you, my dragon," and with a passionate kiss, he positioned himself and finally slid himself inside her with the utmost care.

Gasping, Rhaella wrapped her legs around his hips. Mewling in his mouth. Aerys always felt as an invader, while Jaime simply made her feel full. Head tilting back. "Oh gods…" she whispered.

She felt so good, so soft. Her vanilla and cinnamon scent was intoxicating. With the collapse of everything else in his life, now that the first act of wanting passion was on him, he wasn't stopping. Cupping the back of his head, her mouth latching to his neck, neither was she.

His movements were slow, loving, the deepest of care. Keeping his lower abdomen hovering so as not to hurt the babe. _Why couldn't you be the father…?_ The thought was unbidden, but Rhaella couldn't help it. He was just so perfect… She simply lost herself, enjoying the most wonderful moment, the only wonderful moment in her sexual life. The first time Rhaella had ever known pleasure, shattering beneath him. The lion knight worshiping her body, his seed shooting inside her as he rode out her climax to its conclusion..

Guiding her to collapse on their sides, Jaime held her close - heart beating out of his chest. It had actually happened, and it was far better than he could have ever imagined. The woman beside him made Jaime realize that what he had done with Cersei, while pleasurable, was nothing.

But as the aura of the pleasure dissipated, Rhaella felt her fear... and guilt. _I cuckolded my husband the King while with his child…_ Committed treason on both her Queenly duty and Jaime's Kingsguard vow. _Jaime… the child of my best friend… oh Gods..._

Jaime sensed the tension in her. He understood, but it still hurt. "Rhaella..."

She held up her hand, guilt increasing at how she loved her name on his lips... at how she desired him yet again.

"Please my dragon." He leaned to kiss her again.

"No." She pushed him away. "I will not have your death on my hands, Ser Jaime." Rhaella looked away. "Please go."

But Jaime, having just truly had her, was no about to let go. Ignoring her pleas, he embraced her tightly. Not opening his eyes until she sighed into his hold. "No Rhaella. Now that I finally have you in my arms, I'll be damned to the seventh hell if I ever let you go." He owed it to his vows, to Rhaegar… to the memory of his mother to protect his Queen. His lover.

"Please go... I made a mistake..." It was agonizing to reject him, but Rhaella needed to do it.

But Jaime was stubborn like his father and brother - one of the very few things they all had in common. Hands rubbing down the silky skin of her back "I won't let you go my dragon. You will always have me to protect you," he declared as he kissed her neck.

Rhaella shuddered with pleasure, but had to be strong. "Jaime..." She cupped his cheeks, watching how he beamed at hearing his name on her lips. "Please. I can't let you be caught like this."

"We will be discreet. It will all be over soon." Rhaegar would win, he was sure of it.

"Alright... just go."

Sighing, Jaime rose and donned his armor. Bowing to her as deeply as he could. "I love you... and you will always have my sword and shield."

Rhaella fought the urge to pull him back to bed. It wasn't safe, but he made her feel an unmarried Princess again. "You're a maiden's dream come true, Jaime."

"I don't want a maiden, Rhaella. I only want you... I'll wait as long as I have to." And with that, he was gone.

Left alone, the nude Queen fell to the bed with a groan, hands on her face. "Seven hells..." Just thinking about Joanna's son... all the filthy things she wanted to do with him... her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. "Oh Joanna, why did you have to bring such a handsome man into my life?"

It could never be. Rhaella surprisingly felt no regret for the moment of passion she shared with Jaime, but the pain came with the brutal truth of it all. She and Jaime couldn't tempt fate again. She couldn't risk her life with Daenerys growing inside her, and the thought of Jaime burning in wildfire had her heart shattering.

"Rhaegar, my son…" she murmured, curling into a fetal position. "Please win. Please save us." Only if he won would the axe above their heads disappear...

She cried herself to sleep, not knowing that Jaime heard all of it from standing guard outside. "I'll never let you go my dragon," he swore to the old gods and the new. "That's a promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite there yet, but there pretty much is no earthly way Jaime and Rhaella are ever coming back from this. Full steam ahead ;)
> 
> So it's Starfall that Davos is running the blockade for, not Storm's End. Means he gets a new patron.
> 
> Greyjoys...
> 
> The more reviews, the quicker the update comes!


	51. Clash of the Titans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news, friends, I'm considering starting another fic. It'll be set during the time of Aegon the Conqueror, Queen Visenya, and Maegor the Cruel. It'll be called Dragonshield and tell a story of the Conquerors being more cunning, the Starks being more in the loop, and Maegor changing things greatly by marrying his niece Rhaena instead of Alys Harroway, not to mention a much more robust Faith Militant uprising. Be sure to let me know what you think about it and I'll reveal more details later :)
> 
> Also, I've just come across a great story that any Targ fan would like. It's called Black Reign from my friend bykim0120. Check it out, you won't be sorry :)
> 
> Enjoy and please comment :D

Quiet. Perfectly quiet. Barely a bird chirping or gust of wind howling upon the fields north of the great castle of Harrenhal. Unlike before where many had come to watch, all smallfolk fled the region. Man, woman, child, beast, bird… Apart from the flora rooted to the ground the land was dead. Not knowing where to flee but driven by some malevolent vapor that gathered upon the creek and those lands adjacent.

Two days before, the snows had melted. Warmer weather arriving from the Reach, bringing with it the exposure of the dead grass of the vibrant fields of wheat that would grow in the summer. Plenty of time for the dirt to dry and harden, perfect for cavalry. Perhaps that added to the aura of impending death.

Banners hung limply from their poles. An occasional gust of wind came to shake them every now and again, revealing the fifty-five thousand score of the rebel army. Tightly packed and awaiting their day in the sun. Dozens of great houses some millennia old, interspersed with the blood red three-headed dragon upon black of House Targaryen. Of their King.

Said King eased his stallion towards the frontline. His lips pursed together, hair free about his shoulders. Looking every inch the Targaryen warrior as the Northmen he walked amongst - Lyanna's people, and his - gazed upon him in awe. And he on them. Banner after banner: Bears of House Mormont, Crossed-Chains of House Umber, Mermen of House Manderly, Moose of House Hornwood… Direwolf of House Stark…

"Welcome to the front line, your Grace," Ned offered, only sensing his goodbrother ease Moondancer next to him. Both were mounted, though Ned didn't intend for that to last.

Rhaegar merely narrowed his eyes, not looking at Ned. Instead peering across the field. At the force that stood against his. One of fifty-five thousand pairs of eyes that watched upon it with looks of resignation and defiance.

The influence of Robert Baratheon showed upon the eighty thousand soldiers of Aerys Targareyn's grand army. Unlike the commanders before him, every house fighting was spread out in view, armor gleaming as the morning sun cast its rays from the eastern horizon. Waves and waves of heavily armored knights and men-at-arms of the great southern Kingdoms. Veterans of the same lands only a moon before joined with the full-strength bannermen of Storm's End, Hightower, and Highgarden. Truly a powerful sight.

It would take less than that to intimidate a dragon. "I sent Ser Gerold to better coordinate the center. Lord Randyll commands there, the whispers say."

Ned nodded. Randyll Tarly was the smartest of their enemy. "I take it the Freys haven't arrived." wasn't a bad guess to make.

"No, not even a single banner within riding distance." Rhaegar spat in contempt. "Boltons are close, but they could arrive at any moment. Not good odds."

"The North has beaten their enemies with less." Of the ground, Eddard Stark's northmen would hold the weakest portion of the line on their left. Brynden the Blackfish took the center, strongly anchored by a sunken wagonroad that acted as a natural trench. Across the deeper parts of the creek with thick bluffs that couldn't be forded, the two bridges there were held by Yohn Royce and the Vale - the smallest number of men. "This is my first battle." He finally looked at Rhaegar. "Any advice?"

Smirking softly at Ned, Rhaegar gestured to Ice. "Stick em' with the Pointy End."

Tilting his head back, Ned chuckled. "Learned that from your teachers."

"An advanced lesson courtesy of Ser Gerold." The two shared a lighthearted moment of humor.

Ned sighed. "It helps that you're behind me, brother."

Rhaegar leaned forward to clasp Ned's hand. "With you leading the men, I have no doubt the line will hold."

Across no man's land, the trumpets blared just as Rhaegar withdrew to the rear. A line of horse and foot readying to charge on the northern flank. From his perch behind the readied men, Master of War Robert Baratheon assembled his Stormlanders against the northmen at the weakest point. Randyll Tarly and a mix of Crownlanders and Reach men-at-arms faced their old enemies from the first clash, while Mace Tyrell held his own knights of the southern Reach back close to the God's Eye and castle itself… following the orders of Jon Connington.

Such was the great uproar of the early dawn. Robert, Randyll, and many other lesser commanders demanded a full attack all along the line… especially in the south before the Vale could fully commit their forces. But Connington demurred, approving only a full assault in the north followed by attacks later in the morning. Mace, a tourney knight if there ever was one, had no qualms and looked relieved, while the others were angered.

Robert still steamed, but the prospect of single-handedly shattering the enemy army mollified him. "Ready?"

Ser Cortnay Penrose and Stannis both inspected their forces. The Houses of the Stormlands all raised their banners high, at the ready - Stannis' own archers were bunched up at the closest part of the front. Ready to march and keep up the steady fire once the entire line committed itself… orders from Stannis himself.

At their nods, Robert bellowed. "Charge!"

In one sheet, the mounted knights of a dozen Stormlands houses erupted out. A single line of galloping steeds thundering upon the dead farmland, marching feet rushing forward behind in a desperate attempt to keep up with the horse. They covered the ground quickly, half-way to the creek and the northmen holding the far bank… then a third-way… then a quarter-way...

"Come the fuck on, let's fucking go," Robert snarled.

"Not yet," Ser Cortnay replied, his hand up - signalling to Stannis behind them. "Wait…"

Gripping his reins, palms sweaty even in the chilly air, Robert felt the call of the battle drawing him in. Wanting to join the banners of his sworn Houses and prove himself in a real fight. "Now, nock now!" Behind, the three hundred longbowmen readied their bows. Wood groaning as drawstrings were pulled back.

Resolved that his Lord ountermanded his will, Cortnay dropped his hand. "Loose!" Stannis bellowed, the arrows releasing into the air. Ascending towards the bright blue sky on their mission of death. "We should wait half an hour, my Lord," he told his brother, watching the swarm of arrows meeting the highpoint of the arc. "Then full charge, break them."

Robert grinned. "The dragonspawn will meet my steel then," he announced just as the arrows met their marks.

* * *

"LOOSE!"

The thwacks of hundreds of their own bows momentarily overwhelmed the vibrations of the thousands of hooves. Ned watched as the arrows hurled themselves at the charging stormlands horse. Mixing with the ones gunning for his own men. "Shields up!" While he fought without one, two Stark bannermen protected their lord as the arrows pockmarked the ground. Plunging down into dirt… and occasionally hitting men.

Spurts of blood coated the dead grass, men hit in the foot, the shoulder, and occasionally the head and chest. Men-at-arms pitched into the shallow water of the creek, marring the crystal-clear waters. "Keep firm, men!" Ser Jorah shouted among the warriors of House Mormont, holding the patch of ground directly to the right of House Stark.

Heart beating wildly in his chest, Ned stood as soon as the last arrows dropped. Finding his men largely unharmed. Packed together in the classic Northern shield wall… not as firm as that of the Westerlands or even the Bolton phalanx that won the day at Tumbler's Falls, but powerful. Spears at front for the cavalry, now close enough for Ned to pick out the individual faces. Knights of Houses Selmy, Tarth, Caron, Estermont… the whole of the Stormlands upon them. This is it! Even with everything, the call of his wolfsblood exhilarated him.

"For Lyanna!" Ned bellowed, drawing Ice. It's Valyrian steel finish shining in the morning sun against the backdrop of thousands of enemies. An image begging for a canvas.

The Northmen screamed the same. "FOR LYANNA!" A split-second before the lines collided in what would be called the greatest day of the north in centuries…

Except it wasn't that at all.

It was a slaughter. A colliding of flesh and steel, the vapor of impending death transforming into the specter of the beast itself. Lances tore chunks off of men, spurting blood and guts over the trodden ground. Northmen found themselves trampled, bones crushed under the armored steeds of their southern counterparts. With snarls they shoved their spears forward, scything through many knights. Bodies were thrown back off their horses in twisted, mangled heaps. Massive gouges bashed in the rebel line only seconds before the Stormlands foot began to ford the creek, in an instant all order and chaos evaporated into one bloody melee.

Crimson liquid spattering his face where once his bannerman stood, the metallic smell hit Ned's nose. Torpor overcoming him, watching as his dreams of a heroic stand like the songs was engulfed by the reality of war. A flash of steel shook him from his reverie - quickly, he raised Ice and smashed across the front of a charging Caron knight. Mace flying from his hands as he went down.

As the initial momentum of the Stormlanders impaled upon the churning mud of the bank - horses kicking water upon the soil and leaving it a hopeless muck - the mass of northmen let out their battlecries. The glint of their blades, axes, and maces reflecting the eastern sun directly upon the southerners, they charged down the bank - wading through mud to push right into the creek. A savage melee began, steel overcoming the thunder of hooves. Masses of men were tightly packed from the two sides crashing over a very narrow stretch of front. Highborns raced about, cursing and yelling orders no one could hear in the noise. Eventually they gave up, swords drawn and wading into the fight themselves. The creek ran red with the blood of hundreds churned up by the slaughter, dueling archers filling the air with a seemingly unlimited supply of arrows… both sides came prepared.

Something crashing into his back, Ned gritted his teeth as he spun around, just managing to catch the wild swing from the man-at-arms. On the defensive, the stormlander raised his shield too late - Ice hacking through his neck and shoulder, spraying Ned a bright crimson. Only minutes into the battle he was already bathed in blood - some his, most not. Two horses shot by, Ned ducking under the swing of one and spinning. He felt the force of disemboweling the mounted knight in the side.

Drawing the Valyrian blade back, a flash made him jerk. Eyes seeing the man-at-arms' head fall off his body, spear that almost skewered him clattering to the ground. "Lord Stark!" It was Jorah Mormont, sandy blonde features buried underneath gore and grime. He looked fearsome and strong, so likely wasn't wounded. "We can't take more of this!" With a snarl, he kicked up buckets-full of the ankle-deep water charging at a Dondarrion knight.

Another Dondarrion was gunning for Ned - swing missing his head but tip slicing his forehead. Fuck! Hot blood trickling down his face, he lunged. Thrusting only to dig his feet into the ground. Bashing the wolf's head pommel upon the Dondarrion's helm. The knight was tough, but not that tough. He staggered back, disoriented enough for Ned to swing Ice, beheading him. There was no time for the Lord of Winterfell to even catch his breath, swirling to face a Swann soldier.

_Rhaegar! Come the fuck in!_

Shifting on his saddle, Lord Randyll peered through his spyglass - cursing at the gust of cold wind that chilled his body. "Seven fucking hells, the damn Baratheons went in and we're sitting on our asses."

"My Lord," Ser Jarman Buckwell said, Randyll's current aide as he commanded the loyalist center. "Lord Rykker is attacking."

"What?!" Jaramy Rykker was supposed to support the flank of the Stormlanders, but he saw no banners of the Lord of Duskendale entering the fray. Randyll's heart pounded as he continued to scan the battlefield… only to find the banners of Duskendale… attacking not against the rebel left but across the creek directly into the sunken wagonroad that connected Harrenhal directly to Lord Harroway's Town. "By the Mother… he'll get annihilated!"

His aide winced. "Shall we send a courier to withdraw him.

Looking over his shoulder to where Connington kept his own command tent, no signal coming. _Fuck you, Connington._ Drawing Heartsbane from its scabbard, he boomed at his herald. "Sound the attack! We move now!"

Eager for vengeance against the Rivermen banners that fluttered among the sunken road, the men of the Crownlands surged. Bringing the specter of death further south as the sun rose higher in the sky.

* * *

He could only watch in horror as it unfolded before him. A veritable slaughter of men, and not one sided as the first clash only a few miles to the southeast had been. Rhaegar saw his own men dying, chewed up in the pure death that clouded their left and center. Only the right didn't see much fighting… yet. He held no hope in that regard.

The Seven Kingdoms were tearing themselves apart on the altar of his father's madness. Rhaegar shook with such truth… a victim of it himself… he could have stopped it. But he didn't, and now this was the result.

Beside him, the enraged grimace of Rickard Karstark was starting to get to him. "Send us in!" Under the Lord of Karhold's command were the entire northern cavalry reserve, two thousand men of Karstark and Dustin origin waiting for the right moment. "Those are my comrades dyin' over there!"

"Not yet, Karstark," cautioned Alaric Dayne, commanding half the reserve infantry. "We wait for the right moment…"

"The moment's come," Rhaegar announced, drawing the attention of the bickering Lords and Ser Barristan and Ser Oswell, both standing beside him. None of them rode… there wasn't space to maneuver, and there was no chance the Kingsguards would let Rhaegar blast his way through Stormlands armor in a vicious melee. "Look… the Baratheons are coming."

Karstark whistled. "We're goin' in, boys! For the North!" Cheers erupted after him.

Alaric only grimaced himself. "Good luck, your Grace." He dashed for his own command.

"Your Grace." Trotting up on his horse, Alliser Thorne looked grimer than usual. "The Freys still haven't showed - Mace Tyrell has most of his manpower advancin' on our right."

"Fuck." With the carnage ahead of him moving steadily through the farm fields into the creek itself, he was needed to relieve the northerners. "Barristan! Get to the rear and find every last man to reinforce Royce."

The knight hesitated. "A Kingsguard stays with his King…"

"Do as he says, Barry!" Oswell snarled. "I'll stay with him!" Taking a split second to look them both in the eye, he traded places with Thorne on the horse and galloped off, armor gleaming in the midday sun.

Drawing Blackfyre, Rhaegar leveled it at the oncoming Baratheon horde. "They bring the fury, but we bring Fire and Blood."

A better rallying cry there could never be. "FIRE AND BLOOD!"

While the fighting around the creek and adjoining wheatfields near House Stark's position and that of the heavy Manderly and Umber forces, loyalist attacks a few hundred yards south against the Glovers and mountain clans were more successful. Baratheon men-at-arms led by Ser Cortnay brought new vigor to the bloodied first wave, the fresh troops began advancing across the creek and into the west bank, pushing aside Ser Ethan and Ser Robett Glover. The Northmen fought like wildlings, hurling themselves and their blades against the southerners, breaking formations in frenzied countercharges, but Stannis brought up his entire complement of crossbowmen to rain bolts over open sights into the mass. Ser Ethan was caught in the throat, as was Lord Theo Wull, the resulting chaos rallying the Baratheons. The men of Storm's End cut a large gap in Ned Stark's defensive line, teetering it near collapse and a devastating envelopment.

But the whooping horsemen of House Karstark and Dustin arrived just in time. Lighter than their Stormlands counterparts, they still had all the momentum on their side and trampled through packs of men and beasts. Lances, swords, and maces turning men into bloody sacks of meat, crossing the creek and taking the fighting to the eastern wheatfields. In their wake, the Daynes and Targaryens filled the gaps. Patching the lines, King Rhaegar making damn sure to not let Robert's men dislodge him without a fight.

Visor constricting his vision, Rhaegar was used to it. A demon upon the field as he leapt into the creek. He slammed his sword across the small shield of a Penrose footsoldier, Valyrian steel shattering the wood and slicing off the hand. The lad screamed, pitching back. Dancing out of the thrust of a rusty blade, Rhaegar and sliced across the front of another. He suddenly hissed, blade nicking the join between his breastplate and pelvic guard. Spinning to swing downwards, Rhaegar off a leg of the dismounted knight that challenged him. Again and again… so much blood spilling underneath him that the King lost count of how many he felled.

A knight of House Estermont charged at him, green turtle on his shield bathed in blood as he raised his sword. Rhaegar parried the blow and smashed into the shield, smearing his breastplate in more of the crimson liquid but knocking him to the waters - Oswell delivered the killing blow, running the poor knight through the throat and further shrouding the waters in red. _It is well that war is so terrible…_ Axe swinging at him, a man-at-arms shrieked in pain from Blackfyre slicing open his gut. _Lest we grow too fond of it…_

_Too many already do…_

"Your Grace!" There was barely any time before Rhaegar hurled himself to the right, hitting the water with a loud splash - waters deep enough to fill his mouth with the noxious chyme of blood, mud, and brain matter. From where he stood a trio of mounted knights in Baratheon colors surged across. Their lances depressed, blasting through the disorganized northmen… and separating him from Oswell.

Spitting out the disgusting water, Rhaegar heard the whoosh through the air and knelt. Presenting his armored forearm to shield his face as arrows peppered the creek. Felling men indiscriminately. A strong arm pulled him up. "Your Grace?" The arm belonged to a young boy with a moose of House Hornwood etched in his gorget. "Come…"

Just as suddenly as he appeared, the boy's face disappeared into a mist. Massive warhammer literally disintegrating it. The hammer swung into a wide arc, coming down right at Rhaegar. Spinning on his feet, fighting to not slip and fall on the fine gravel creekbed, the King clashed Blackfyre twice against the equally gleaming Valyrian steel before the voice of a demon boomed in his ears.

"Rhaegar!"

It clicked in an instant. "Robert!" Rhaegar's eyes narrowed within his helm, grip tightening on Blackfyre. "We face at last!"

Snarling like a rabid dog, much less a stag, the dressed to impress Baratheon charged at Rhaegar. Stormbreaker already aiming for the rubies on the King-claimant's breastplate. "You will die, rapist!" The thick plate that hugged his burly frame and high-antlered helm gave him an almost demonic look, putting his all into the crashing blows directed at Rhaegar's midsection. Gritting his teeth as Rhaegar dodged all of them… if by the skin of his teeth. "Face me, Dragonspawn!"

The man was mad. Consumed with obsession… over Lyanna. _My wife. My Queen. Mine! _Blackfyre spinning in hand, water kicked up into foam around Rhaegar's ankles as he went on the offensive. "You will never have her!" It hurt to speak, but his blood ran hot. Sight tinged red with the same fury as on the Baratheon sigil, pressing his offensive advantage. Robert raised the hammer, shaft blocking Blackfyre. Rhaegar swinging down hard over and over.

"She is mine!" Roaring, his bulk almost sprung out, pushing Rhaegar back. The resulting swing only missing the King by an inch. "You stole her from me!" His Lyanna, his betrothed, yanked away from him and forced into a marriage. Abused and raped by a man with a wife of his own. He stabbed forward, the spearhead mounting the head of Stormbreaker striking true - Robert's lips contorted into a dark smirk as it hit flesh.

Rhaegar hissed, Valyrian steel piercing the armor of his left abdomen. Shredding flesh and muscle. The pain felt nothing but pressure, hot blood blocking the pain and leaving his mind clear. Before Robert could truly pull it away, Rhaegar grabbed the shaft and yanked Robert forward - warhammer and all. Knocking the smirk off of Baratheon's face. He swung Blackfyre wildly, the sword slicing off the antlers of Robert's helm while redoubling to slash across his chest. Cutting the armor as if it was mail.

Howling from the sting of the cut, he pitched back. Feet kicking up more of the churning creek as he steadied himself. Robert reached for his face and pulled up the visor. Staring at Rhaegar with his own eyes. The azure blue narrowed in hate and concentration. Regarding the mighty dragon before him.

"She loves me," boomed the King. The battle around them seemed far away, an invisible shroud between the two great houses - forged from the same loins centuries before, but having lost their way in the interregnum. Meeting in hate, love, and obsession on the sight of House Targaryen's greatest triumph. "You will never have her Robert, Lyanna loves me." Rhaegar tightened on his blade, waiting for Robert to come at him.

And he did not disappoint. "NEVER!" But unlike the bullheaded stag Rhaegar expected, Robert stayed light on his feet. Jinking from Rhaegar's thrust dead center with the agility of a dancer, Stormbreaker dropping to one hand as his right slammed into the helm of his foe in a jarring right hook. Punches not ceasing, denting the metal with repeated crashes. Over and over and over… A jerk of the wrist sent the Valyrian steel staff crashing into the swinging blade, blocking it as Robert kneed Rhaegar in the chest. Rubies scattering into the water from his shattered sigil.

Staggering, head a mass of ringing and pounding, Rhaegar had no time to lift his sword as Stormbreaker swung at his temple. Only time enough to duck, saving his life in that moment.

But not emerging unscathed.

Glancing against his skull, the legendary warhammer of House Durrandon sent Rhaegar's helm flying clean off. Covered with enough blood and bone to mark the wound Robert delivered upon the King-claimant. Rhaegar faltered, collapsing to his knees and then his back as the world seemed to fade in and out of a white noise or black shroud. Surrounded by the cooling water. Arms weak, body nonresponsive. Eyes clouded - making out only a hulking mass that stood above him.

"Pathetic." Robert's voice boomed as if the manifestation of the seventh hell. "Last Dragon my ass." A faint roar hit Rhaegar's ears as Stormbreaker raised up, ready to deliver the killing blow…

A sense of shame passed through Rhaegar. Two faces dancing before his eyes. _Lya… Elia..._

"Nooooo!" The last thing Rhaegar saw before the blackness overpowered him was the glint of Valyrian steel clashing against Robert's warhammer.

* * *

Ser Bonifer Hasty was a fighter. Born to ride and to swing a sword, the young knight he had dreamed of winning a King's Tourney, gaining the favor of the gods and the crown to establish himself upon the Realm. And yet, the events surrounding his last tourney sundered that dream - turned him to the gods. To serve the Seven, and in being the Warrior's champion in chivalrous fighting would he bring himself glory.

Upon the sunken wagonroad, facing the forces of Randyll Tarly in the great rematch between the Rivermen and their Crownlands brethren, he may have followed the Seven's will but there would be no glory. No chivalrous fighting. Only death and carnage… it was what the Warrior wished, and with sword in hand Ser Bonifer would follow.

"Spearmen, hold firm!" he commanded, greatsword clashing with the mace of Darry soldier. His armor and shield were strong, but Bonifer had the skill of a seasoned warrior. Lunging in a feint, he instead swung his sword and lopped off the man's leg. He howled, falling back into the mass of corpses filling the wagonroad. "Present spears!" Bonifer screamed, falling back behind the mass of Peake bannermen.

The clatter was immense as they depressed their spears, heavy armor proving a powerful anchor in holding the line. Acting as a trench, the wagonroad blunted whatever momentum Randyll Tarly had after smashing across the creek. The Blackfish managed to retreat in good order. There was no order as the Crownlanders impaled themselves upon the Peake spears.

Running through a man with the Tarly huntsman on his gorget, an arrow wooshed past Bonifer's head. Felling a dismounted knight by punching through his chestplate. "Looks' like you can use the help," grinned Ser Bronn, notching another arrow onto his quiver. "Loose!"

Fifty crossbows that Bronn brought from the rear released their payloads. Bolts sailing out with a thwack, adding to the blood soaking the roadbed. Likely sinking it further from the weight of the bodies. _No honor in this… only in your actions._ Readying his sword, Bonifer readied himself for what the uncompromising Tarly would throw at the rebel center.

His answer came with the near blackening of the sky. "Cover!"

On instinct, Bonifer grabbed a shield dropped by a dead Rosby and covered himself as best he could. Tucking his legs and arms within the cover of the large strip of wood and iron… gritting his teeth at the arrows slamming into it. Many around him weren't as lucky, screams filling his ears. And yet it was interminable to wait, Randyll obviously having plenty of his own sigil to rain arrows upon them.

And as it finally ended, their lines far thinner than before the black rain of House Tarly scythed through the rebel center, the trumpets of heralds sounded another loyalist attack. "What's fun without a little struggle?" Bronn quipped. Bonifer merely tightened his grip on his sword, readying for the charge that was coming.

As the two armies battled in a chaotic slugfest over the center of the line, crickets could still be heard in front of the mass of Mace Tyrell's 'summer knights.' Decked in their finery - polished armor, gleaming weapons, feather-plumed helms signifying their wealth and tourney prowess - the Lord of Highgarden had been the only one to obey Lord Connington's orders. Choosing to remain in position and wait for the explicit command in spite of urgings from Lord Butterwell and Lord Oakheart, two of his top commanders.

Had Baelor Hightower - Mace's goodbrother - pushed him then the attack might have started sooner than the dispatch rider from Connington just as the sun began to rise high into the sky. But Tumbler's Falls had made him timid, unsure of himself. Unwilling to press an advantage. Lord Oakheart breathed a sigh of relief when he was directed to launch the attack.

Elbert Arryn had every right to be fearful - pissing his breeches even. Men exhausted from marching all the way around the God's Eye in a mere two days without rest, he didn't even have enough of them. House Frey and their missing twenty-five hundred bannermen were keenly felt, depriving them of the Peake and Blackmont infantry he sorely needed. True, the creek in this sector was about fifteen yards wide and deeper than the rest, but at waist deep it was eminently fordable by horses and unable to be truly defended by archers due to thick woodland on the west bank.

But Elbert and his frontline commander Bronze Yohn Royce were offered a miracle when Mace hesitated. His attempts to probe a ford elsewhere were shot by either high banks or the walls of Harrenhal, and the inexperienced 'Tourney Lord' wouldn't order his cavalry across the creek until Lord Oakheart could capture a stone bridge and force a place on the west bank.

Oakheart's belated assault on the bridge began hours after the first Baratheon bannerman clashed with the northmen. In spite of heavy archery and crossbow cover, House Corbray's defenders stood firm. Shield wall tightly packed and narrow, avoiding the brunt of the archers and beating back the Oakheart charge. Another attack met the same fate, filling the bridge with packed bodies as desperate attempts to force a fording against Mace's wishes ended in dismounted Royce knights defending the banks expertly.

Connington grew irate watching Mace's lack of progress from his rear command tent. His plan was going well, but it needed the Tyrells to cross the river. "Tell him if it costs half his men, he must go now!" screamed the Hand of the King to the courier.

Narrowing his eyes at the courier half an hour later, Mace addressed his son Willas. "Lord Connington appears to think I am not trying my best to carry this bridge. I follow his orders, ser, and you cannot pin such swill on me." Inside, his heart beat quickly regardless. Praying that Lord Oakheart could have some success so that his own position would be secure.

Deliver his bannerman did. Borrowing the idea from Stannis he lined his crossbowmen upon the east bank, pointing upon the side of the bridge and unleashing a hail of bolts into the unprotected sides of the Corbray shield wall. Vale archers were hurled at the crossbowmen, causing grievous losses but their sacrifice worked. A third charge took the bridge, allowing columns of columns of cavalry to charge across to force the knights of the Vale back. Outnumbered nearly two to one and their own horses close to blown rather than the fresh Reach knights that could maneuver around. Elbert drew his blade, ready to make his last stand…

"Who holds the North?! WHO HOLDS THE NORTH!"

Ser Barristan had found his reinforcements, the tired yet determined hoplites of House Bolton. Quick couriers allowing Elbert and Royce to shift their forces to the flanks of their position upon the fields north of Harrenhal, the Reach knights watched in horror as the terrifying men the house of knives deployed in front of them.

Any breakthrough wouldn't be achieved here as the lances, spears, and blades clashed into each other.

Until the cry came down the line… "The King has fallen!"

* * *

It didn't seem real to Ned.

Greatsword acting as if of its own accord, Valyrian steel crashing against its comrade in arms with a thundering clatter. Red-tinged foam showering those around them as the two Lords Paramount engaged in the most brutal of clashes. Brother against brother, each out of pure desperation.

Forced back, barely able to keep his footing against Ned's surprise charge, Robert would have recovered his bearings had it not been his friend. His brother… "Ned!" On the cusp of killing the vile rapist, the Lord of Winterfell erupted from the haze of battle and engaged him. Robert was so blindsided he wasn't able to properly swing Stormbreaker - instead using it as one would a staff. "What the fuck…" A swing was parried, Robert jerking forward to shove Ned off of him. "...are you doing!"

Twirling Ice in both of his wrists, Ned stood firm. Eyes pained but determined as he stared down the man he had grown up with. Whom had been more of a brother to him than Bran or Benjen in the scheme of things. "Can't let you do it, Robert." He lunged, only for the Baratheon to leap back in an agility surprising for a man of his musculature.

He stared at Ned in complete shock, ripping his helm from his head and hurling it into the water with a splash - his wild hair flying free as death surrounded him. "But Lyanna…"

"She doesn't love you, Robert," Ned barked, hoping that he could get Robert to withdraw. To truce… though given everything it was a forlorn hope.

Robert was the one that shattered it. "She will!" He readied his warhammer. "After I kill the dragonspawn!" Holding back for Ned's sake, the swing that met Ice would have nevertheless cleaved apart any lesser blade. Ned nearly toppled as he ducked back, fingers tightening around Ice's pommel and countered. Willingly battling his once closest friend to protect his goodbrother.

All across the line, the battle was complete carnage. An orgy of blood and slaughter that would long soak the God's Eye in crimson. In the south, the Boltons withstood charge after charge from the Tyrell horse while Lord Arryn's bannermen tried desperately to push them back. Already, the writhing bodies carpeting the wagonroad were trampled over by waves of Crownlanders under the cover of Tarly arrows as they slowly battered the Rivermen and Holy Hundred in the center. And in the North, Lord Karstark's insane charge had petered out, the Northmen forced to withdraw back to the Manderly and Umber lines. Their inspiring Lord could have rallied them… but one of Stannis Baratheon's crossbowmen ripped through Harrion Karstark's throat and turned Rickard into a torpid wreck… his men dragging him out.

But it was the news of Rhaegar's fall - the King knocked out cold and barely alive - that proved the deciding factor. While Oswell Whent tried to escort him to the rear without incident, the men weren't stupid. When one young soldier saw his King drawn atop a stretcher, it took mere minutes for panic to settle in.

The rebel army was forced to withdraw… either in good order or in a rout, but they would have to retreat.

Robert fought ferociously - the Stag Lord was a master with his hammer, as skilled with it as all but the greatest Kingsguards with their blades. Stance perfect, thrusts filled with brute strength, one could have forgiven anyone who said he was a grizzled warrior of a hundred battles. Spinning around to the side, Ned slammed the sword of his ancestors into the Baratheon steel. Driving Stormbreaker to the ground. Robert was good, but so was he.

Breaths measured and attacks precise, Ned still struggled to match Robert and the occasional Baratheon bannerman trying to protect their lord blow for blow. One found his neck turned into a bloody mess, Ned forced to parry another attack from Robert. I'm not going to last...

With a fury of his own, Robert charged… only for another blade to drive the warhammer back. "Lord Stark!" Jorah Mormont and a dozen Mormont bannermen flooded the creek, engaging Robert and the Stormlanders that rushed to his defense. "The army is retreating! Rhaegar has fallen!"

"Victory, my Lord Hand."

Connington looked at Rhaegar's army crumbling. Falling back slowly but undoubtedly in defeat. Whatever had happened, he had his triumph. My triumph… the day is ours…

_Ours…_

"Let them retreat."

His aides blinked. "My Lord? We've taken the field."

"And that is enough," the Hand shot back. "If we pursue our supply lines will be stretched out and they can counterattack when Walder Frey… or gods forbid Tywin can annihilate us." Rhaegar and I will never rule if I annihilate his army. "Harrenhal is fallen. The day is ours. We need to rest and digest our victory."

There was silence. No one willing to challenge their orders but unable to deny it was an insane one.

As such, Connington grabbed one of their collars. "Signal to hold!" And the trumpeted command blared over the field, signalling the end to what had been the largest clash of armies since the Dance of Dragons.

One King would smile, while the other clung to life on the barest of threads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One cannot always have a perfect streak. Rhaegar gets bloodied, and only thanks to Ned did he escape his canon fate. His friendship with Ned is the friendship both he and Ned deserved :)
> 
> Good thing Connington fucked up, lol.
> 
> Next up, the things Jaime does for love.
> 
> The more reviews, the quicker the update comes!


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